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CHURCHES  OF  NEW  YOHi 


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THE 


GREAT  METROPOLIS; 


HIREOE  OF  NEW  YORK. 


A  COMPLETE  HISTORY  OF  METROPOLITAN  LIFE  AND  SOCIETY,  WITH  SKETCHES 

OF  PROMINENT  PLACES,  PERSONS  AND  THINGS  IN  THE  CITY, 

AS  THEY  ACTUALLY  EXIST. 


BY 

JUI^IUS   HEE"EI   BEOWl^E. 


bTSulb5ariptioa  calyaaa  not  for  sale  in  the  Book  Stores.    Residents  of  any  State  In  the  Union  desiring  a  copy  should 
wy  isuvBw  F  J-  address  the  Publishers,  and  an  agent  wiU  caU  upon  them. 


HARTFORD: 
AMERICAN   PUBLISHING    COMPANY. 

R.  W.  BLISS  &  CO.,  TOLEDO,  OHIO.     BLISS  &  CO.,  NEWAKK,  N.  J. 

H.  H.  BANCROFT  &  CO.,  SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 

1869. 


Entered  according  to  Act  ot  Congress,  in  the  year  1868,  by 

AMERICAN"   PUBLISHING  CO., 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Connectipnt. 


GIFT 


F. lectrctypcd  hj 
1. 0  C  K  W  <)  O  D   i!    M  A  N  D  K  V I  L  L  ] 

UAKTFOKO,      CONK 


TO   THE 

GOOD    MEN    AND    THE    GOOD    WOMEN 

WHO  WALK  WITH  ChARITY, 

AND  SCATTER   THE    SUNSHINE    OF  THEIR    PRESENCE   IN    THE  DARK 

WAYS    OF     THE    GrEAT     CiTY, 

THIS    UNASSUMING  RECORD  OF  ITS  LIFE   IS 

EARNESTLY   INSCRIBED. 


MSi2405 


PREFACE. 


The  sketches  in  this  volume,  begun  more  than  two  years 
ago,  have  been  continued  from  time  to  time  in  the  midst  of 
journalistic  duties,  as  personal  observation  and  inquiry 
furnished  new  facts  and  illustrations  of  the  Great  City. 
These  chapters  have  been  w^ritten  to  represent  the  outer  and 
inner  life  that  makes  up  the  beauty  and  deformity,  the  good 
and  evil,  the  happiness  and  misery,  which  lie  around  us 
here  so  closely  interwoven,  that  only  charity  can  judge  them 
wisely  and  well. 

In  Faith  and  Hope  the  world  will  disagree, 
But  all  mankind's  concern  is  Charity.        '    ' 
All  must  be  false  that  thwart  this  one  great  end, 
And  all  of  God,  that  bless  mankind  or  mend. 

J.  H.  B. 
New-York,  December,  1868. 


ILLTJSTEATIOlJrS 


1.  CHURCHES  IN  NEW  YORK, 

2.  ILLUSTRATED  TITLE  PAGE, 

3.  ARCHITECTURAL  CONTRASTS,    . 

4.  BUSINESS  CONTRASTS, 

5.  STOCK  EXCHANGE,  BROAD  STREET, 

6.  BLACKWELL'S  ISLAND, 

7.  STREET  VENDERS,      . 

8.  '^UMBRELLAS,"       . 

9.  CHINESE  CANDY  DEALERS, 

10.  FORT  LAFAYETTE, 

11.  THE  MALL.  CENTRAL  PARK 

12.  UNION  SQUARE, 

13.  PILOT  BOAT, 

14.  BARNUM'S  MUSEUM,  1800,       . 

15.  THE  BATTERY, 

16.  PRINTING  HOUSE  SQUARE, 

17.  PARK  BANK,  BROADWAY, 

18.  WASHINGTON  MARKET, 
10.  STREET  ARABS, 

20.  STREET  BEGGARS, 

21.  MACKERELVILLE  TURN-OUT, 

22.  HOWARD  MISSION, 

23.  ROOM  IN  HOWARD  MISSION, 

24.  CITY  MISSIONARY, 

25.  LOW  GROGGERY, 
20.  THE  FIRST  SNOW, 


Frontispiece, 


Page 


23 
23 

48 
77 
90 
92 
98 
109 
121 
128 
176 
176 
242 
310 
344 
408 
427 
457 
465 
526 
526 
547 
659 
696 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  RICH  AND  POOR. 


Fashion  and  Famine. — Charms  and  Counter-Charms  of  the  Metropolis. — 
Lights  and  Shadows  Everywhere. —Life  at  its  Best  and  Worst. —Marble 
Palaces  and  Squalid  Tenement  Houses. — What  They  Contain.  23 

CHAPTER  n. 

NEW  YORK  SOCIETY. 

Its  Divisions  and  Characteristics. — The  Old  Knickerbocker  Families. — 
The  Cultivatedly  Comfortable.— The  New  Rich.— The  Mere  Adven- 
turers.— Social  Shams  and  Snobs. — The  American  Gentleman  and 
Lady. 31 

CHAPTER  HL 

WALL  STREET. 

The  Banking-House  of  the  Continent. — Money-Getting  and  Mammon-Wor- 
ship.— The  Mania  for  Stock  and  Gold  Operations. — The  Exchange  and 
Gold  Room. — Great  Wealth  of  the  Quarter. — Its  Redeeming  Virtues.  40 

CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    POLICE. 

The  Force  in  the  City. — Its  Strength  and  Effectiveness. — The  Best  and 
Worst  Class. — Their  Habits  and  Operations. — The  Station  House  and 
Prisoners. — Scenes  and  Characters. — Detectives  and  their  Varieties.  50 

CHAPTER  V. 

THE  SHIPPING. 

Sea-Ports  and  Sea-Thoughts. — Commerce  of  the  Great  City. — Its  Trade 
all  over  the  Globe. — Vessels  and  Sailors. — Scenes  at  the  Dock  and  on 
Shipboard. — The  People  who  Arrive  and  Depart.  .  .         59 

CHAPTER  VL 

THE  ROUGHS. 

Their  Physiology  and  Psychology. — Haunts  and  Habits  of  the  Class. — 
Their  Education  and  Associations. — Defeated  Justice  and  Dangerous 
Elements. — The  Wild  Beasts  in  an  Unseen  Lair.         .  .  67 


8  Contents. 

CHAPTER  VIL 

BLACKWELL'S  ISLAND. 

The  Abode  of  Paupers  and  Criminals.— The  Different  Buildings  and  their 
Inmates. — Mysterious  Babies  and  Notorious  Thieves. — Curious  Luna- 
tics and  Peculiar  Characters. — A  Fancied  Napoleon  Bonaparte. — An 
Imaginary  Prophet.     ......  76 

CHAPTEPv  VIII. 

TIIE  FIRST  OF  MAY. 

Moving  in  Manhattan. — Origin  of  the  Custom, — House-Hunting  and 
House  Hunters. — Among  the  Rich  and  Poor.— May-Scenes  and  Ex- 
periences.— Change  and  Chaos  from  the  Battery  to  the  Park.  86 

CHAPTER   IX. 

THE  STREET-VENDERS. 

The  Bohemians  of  Trade  and  Bedouins  of  Tratfic. — News  and  Flower 
Dealers. — Dog-Fanciers  and  Toy-Peddlers. — Retail  Shams  and  Small 
Swindles. — Bowery  Breakfasts  and  Park-Row  Dinners.—  Old  Clothes 
Hawkers  and  Chinese  Candy-Sellers.  ...  92 

CHAPTER  X. 

THE   FERRIES. 

Their  Number,  Location  and  Business. — Different  Classes  of  Passengers. 
— Occupation  and  Toil,  Hope  and  Success  on  the  "Waters. — The  Refluent 
Wave  of  Humanity. — The  All-Night  Boats. — Journalists  and  Printers 
on  their  Way  Home.  .  .  .  .  .  100 

CHAPTER  XL 

GREENWOOD. 

Picturesqueness  of  the  Cemetery. — Its  Extent  and  Range  of  View. — 
Activity  of  Funerals. — Sentiment  and  Pathos. — Burial  of  a  Prosperous 
Merchant. —The  T.  arl.css  Widow.— The  Last  of  the  True  Wife  and 
Mother. — The  Poor  Outcast  at  the  Tomb. — Epitaphs  and  their  Hollow- 
ness. — A  Romantic  Maiden  who  Would  Not  Die.      .  . .  110 

CHAPTER  XIL 

TEIE  PARKS. 

Decay  and  Abandonment  of  the  Old  Plazas. — The  Central  Park,  its 
People  and  Prospects. — The  Resort  of  the  Wealthy  and  Indigent. — 
The  Two  Carriages  and  their  Occupants. — A  Pair  of  Nobodies. — Glit- 
tering Discontent.      ......  121 


Contents.  9 

CHAPTER  XIIJ> 

TITE   EOWEllY. 

The  Quarter  and  its  Habitues.— Tricks  and  Tradesmen  There.— The 
Bowery  Merchant's  Manner  of  Deahng  with  Customers.— A  Sailor 
and  Land-Shark.— After  Night-full.— The  Bowery  Boy  Extinct,       129 

CHAPTER   XIV. 

THE  FORTUNE-TELLERS. 

The  Mystic  Tribe  and  its  Patrons.— Dowdy  Priestesses  and  Common- 
Place  Oracles.— Scenes  of  Sorcery.— Interior  of  a  Temple  of  Fate.— 
Revelations  about  Wives.— A  Tawdry  Witch  of  Mysterious  Pretension. 
—Superstitions  of  Business  Men.— The  Calling  not  Profitable.        138 

CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  BOHEMIANS. 

Popular  Idea  of  the  Class.— The  True  and  False  Guild.— What  They  are  and 
Beheve.— The  Original  Tribe  in  New  York.- Sketches  of  the  Promi- 
nent Members.— Disreputable  Specimens.— The  Earnest  Disciples.  150 

CHAPETPv   XVI. 

THE  LAGER  BEER  GARDENS. 

Their  Numbers  and  Variety.— Peculiarities  of  the  Manhattan  Beverage. — 
German  Characteristics  and  Customs.— Teutonic  Simplicity  and 
Enjoyment.— The  Atlantic  Garden.- Music,  Tobacco,  Talk  and  Tip- 
pling  159 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  CHURCHES. 

Their  Number  and  Wealth— Their  Liberality  and  Beauty.— Religion  as  a 
Form— A  Fashionable  Temple.— Repulsion  of  Humble  Strangers.— 
An  Elegant  Congregation.— Characters.— Pulpit  Oratory.— Genuine 
Christianity.  .  *  •  •       '      •  •  1^*^ 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE    THEATERS. 

Dramatic  Assumptions  of  the  Metropolis.— Character  of  its  Audiences.— 
Dramatic  Temples— Their  Diifercnt  Patrons.— Wallack's,  Niblo's 
Garden,  the  Olympic,  Pike's  Opera  House,  the  Academy  of  Music,  the 
New  York,  the  Theatre  Frangais,  the  Broadway,  Wood's,  Booth's  and 
the  Bo  .very.     "  .  .  •  •  •  •  ^^^ 


'10  Contents. 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  DEAD  BEATS. 

The  Higher  and  Lower  Sort. — Requirements  and  Peculiarities  of  the 
Calling. — Variety  and  Contrast  of  the  Life.^ — Photograph  of  the 
Creature. — Sketch  of  his  Career. — Reclaiming  a  Prodigal. — Freedom 
from  Debt  the  Sole  Independence.     .  .  .  .  186 

CHAPTEPv  XX. 

THE  ADVENTURESSES. 

Man's  Vanity  and  Woman's  Cunning. — Origin  of  the  Strange  Women. — 
Their  Ample  Field  in  the  City. — Their  Mental  and  Moral  Code. — 
Operations  at  the  Hotels. — War  Widows. — Examples  of  Interesting 
Poverty. — Advertising  Tricks. — Emigrants. — The  Traveling  Sister- 
hood.— A  Remnant  of  the  Woman  Left.       .  .  .  19$ 

CHAPTER  XXL 

THE  BOARDING  HOUSES. 

The  Fashionable  Establishments  and  their  Noticeable  Features. — Mrs. 
Dobbs  and  her  Patrons. — The  Landlady  from  Life. — Weal  and  Woe  of 
her  Happy  Family. — Comfortless  Comfort  of  a  Home. — The  Salesman, 
Law  Student  and  Reporter. — Dreary  Dinners. — Evening  Entertain- 
ments. .......  205 

CHAPTER  XXIL 

HORACE  GREELEY. 

Prevalent  Ideas  of  Him. — His  Early  Years. — Establishment  of  the  Tri- 
bune.— His  Indefatigable  Industry  and  Great  Popularity. — His  Fancy 
Farm  at  Chappaqua — His  Family  and  Charities — His  Eccentricities. 
— The  Verdict  of  his  Countrymen.  .  .  .  214 

CHAPTER   XXIIL 

THE  FIFTH  AVENUE. 

Architecture  of  the  Street. — Its  Exclusivencss  and  Wealth. — Inner  Life  and 
Outward  Show.— Pretension  and  Refinement. — Oppressive  Monotony. 
— Gorgeous  Interiors. — The  Queen  of  the  Drawing  Room.^The  Devotee 
of  Fashion. — Blazing  Hearths  and  Ashen  Hearts. — Fate  of  the  Un- 
recognized.— Untold  Histories.  .  .  .  219 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

HENRY  J.  RAYMOND. 

The  Beginning  of  his  Career. — Entry  into  Journalism  and  Politics. — The 
Times  Office. — The  Elbows-of-the  Mincio  Article. — Personal  Appear- 
ance and  Private  AlRiirs. — Temperamental  Peculiarity.         .  230 


Contents.  1 1 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  BATTERY. 

What  it  was  and  is. — Its  Historic  Associations. — Its  Lingering  Attractions, 
— The  Emigrant  Depot  at  Castle  Garden. — Idiosyncrasies  of  Foreigners. 
— How  They  are  Fleeced. — Germans,  Scotch,  Irish,  French  and 
Italians.  .......  236 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  GAMBLING  HOUSES. 

Twenty-Five  Hundred  in  the  City. — The  Fashionable  Faro  Banks. — 
Description  of  their  Habitues. — Vulgar  Haunts  and  Common  Black- 
legs.— Princely  Proprietors  and  Plebeian  Plunderers. — Phenomena 
of  Faro. — Varieties  of  Gaming.  ....  243 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

HENRY  WARD  BEECHER. 

School  Days  and  Theological  Training. — Eccentricities  of  Character. — His 
Power  and  Influence  in  his  Pulpit. — Journalistic,  Political  and  Literary 
Career. — "Norwood"  and  the  Forthcoming  "Life  of  Jesus." — Popu- 
larity as  a  Lecturer. — His  Domestic  Affairs.  .  .  252 

CHAPTER  XXVIIL 

THE  RESTAURANTS. 

Up-Town  and  Down-Town. — Eating-Houses. — Their  Great  Variety. — Over 
Five  Thousand  in  Town. — The  Guerilla  System  of  Dining. — People  You 
Have  Met. — Lunching  Makes  Strange  Companions. — Late  Suppers. — 
Elegant  Dissipation.  .  .  .  .  .  260 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

MANTON  MARBLE. 

The  "Man  of  the  World." — His  Early  Love  of  Journalism. — His  Experi- 
ence in  Boston. — The  Great  Democratic  Organ. — Its  Antecedents  and 
Progress. — Shrewd  Management  of  the  Editor-in-Chief. — The  Man- 
hattan Club.  ......  267 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE  FIVE  POINTS. 

The  Notorious  Locality. — Poverty,  Misery  and  Vice. — Baxter  Street  Life 
and  Morals. — The  Swarm  of  Children. — Etchings  from  Nature. — Rep- 
resentative Races. — The  Callings  of  the  Place. — The  Dance-Houses. — 
What  One  Sees  There.  .  .  .  .  .  271 


12  Contents. 


CHAPTER  XXXr. 

TUE  MORGUE. 

Its  Growing  Need  in  Gotham. — Its  Appearance  and  Regulations. — Fascina- 
tion of  the  Horrible. — Scenes  Within  and  Without. — Apoplexy,  Murder, 
Homicide  and  Suicide. — The  Humorous  Side  of  Ghastliness.  280 

CHAPTER  XXXn 

ALEXANDER  T.  STEWART. 

The  Man  of  Money  and  Embodiment  of  Business. — His  Past  History. — A 
Merchant  by  Accident. — His  Erection  of  the  First  Marble  Building 
in  Broadway. — His  Up-Town  Store. — His  Fifth  Avenue  Palace. — His 
Reputation  for  Generosity. — His  Immense  Wealth. — His  Private 
Life.  .......  289 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE  DAILY  PRESS. 

The  Herald,  Tribune,  Times,  World,  Journal  of  Commerce  and  Sun. — 
Defects  of  the  Metropolitan  Newspapers. — Their  Circulation  and 
Characteristics. — Their  Antecedents  and  Profits, — The  Evening  Journ- 
als.— What  They  Are  and  Do.  ....  295 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE  WEEKLY  PRESS. 

Their  Great  Number. — The  Illustrated  Papers. — Remarkable  Success  of 
the  Ledger. — The  Sunday  Journals  and  their  Character, — Journalism 
as  a  Profession  in  New  York. — Slenderness  of  the  Compensation. — 
Needs  of.the  Calling. — Its  Overcrowding.    .  .  .  311 

CHAPTER   XXXV. 

WILLIAM  B.  ASTOR. 

An  Exception  to  Most  Rich  Men's  Sons. — His  Great  Care  of  his  Father's 
Estate. — His  Industry,  Energy  and  Sagacity. — His  Freedom  from 
Pretension  or  Extravagance. — His  Daily  Duties  and  Domestic  Life. — 
The  Wealthiest  Man  in  America.      .  .  .  .  319 

CHAPTER  XXXVL 

THE  CONCERT  SALOONS. 

Their  Rise  and  Sudden  Popularity. — Various  Grades  of  Music-Halls. — 
Danger  of  Frequenting  Them.— The  "Pretty  Waiter  Girls."— The 
Night  Haunts. — The  Vision  of  Dissipation. — Demoralizing  Influence  of 
Such  Places.  .  .  .  .  .  .  326 


Contents.  13 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

CORNELIUS  VANDERBILT. 

The  Beginning  of  his  Fortunes.— The  Staten  Island  Perriauger.— A  Purely 
Self-Made  Man. — His  Control  of  Steam  Lines. — The  Great  Railway- 
King. — Passion  for  Whist  and  Horses — His  Extraordinary  Wall  Street 
Operations. — His  Vast  Income. — His  Remarkable  Vigor  in  Old  Age.  333 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

BROADWAY. 

The  Street  Cosmopolitan  and  Cosmoramic. — Its  Architecture  and  Constant 
Throng. — Poetry  and  Philosophy  of  the  Thoroughfare. — Its  Resources 
and  Suggestiveness. — Romance  and  Reality. — Love  and  Friendship. — 
Changes  of  Fortune. — All  the  World  Flowing  through  that  Channel.  339 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

THE  TIIIEYES. 

Crime  and  Criminals. — Scoundrels  Actual  and  Ideal. — Burglars,  Hotel- 
Robbers,  Shop-Lifters,  Pickpockets  and  Sneaks. — Their  Number  and 
Mode  of  Operating. — The  Art  of  Stealing  and  Science  of  Being 
Undiscovered.  ......  846 

CHAPTER  XL. 

SUNDAY  IN  NEVT  YORK. 

The  Change  of  the  Week.— Silence  of  the  Sabbath.— The  Sacredness  of 
Rest. — Different  Modes  of  Enjoying  the  Day. — Excursions  out  of 
Town, — God  in  the  Town  and  Country.         .  .  .  855 

CHAPTER  XLI. 

THURLOW  WEED. 

The  Cabin  Boy  Becomes  a  Political  Warwick — His  Extraordinary  Tact 
and  Insight. — His  Long  Control  of  New  York  Politics. — The  Whig 
Triumviate. — The  Commercial  Advertiser. — His  Adroit  Management 
of  an  Obstinate  Assemblyman. — His  Income  and  Good-Heartedness.  365 

CHAPTER  XLII. 

BLEECKER  STREET. 

Its  Past  and  Present. — ^Its  Variety  and  Oddity. — Its  Strange  Occupants. 
— Deception  and  Intrigue. — Dissipation  and  Death. — The  Quarter  of 
Artists  and  Bohemians. — Disturbance  of  Lodgers. — Great  Freedom  of 
the  Neighborhood.  ...  872 


14  Contents. 

CHAPTER    XLIIL 

NASSAU  STREET. 

Its  Uniqueness  and  Symbolism. — Curious  People  and  Phenomena. — Love 
and  Loans. — Lager  and  Literature. — Confusion  of  Humanity. — The 
Old  Book  Stores. — Rambles  Up  and  Down  Dusty  Stairways. — Back- 
OflBce  Secrets. — Prolific  Material  for  Novels.  .  .  381 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

THE  HOTELS. 

Americans  not  Domestic. — The  Astor,  St.  Nicholas,  Metropolitan,  Fifth 
Avenue,  New  York,  Brevoort  and  Barcelona. — Second  Class  Houses. — 
Gossip,  Flirtation  and  Intrigue. — Hotel  Life  in  Various  Phases.       390 

CHAPTER   XLV. 

WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 

Fame  in  the  Metropolis. — His  Poetry  and  Travels. — The  Evening  Post. — 
His  Labors  and  Influence  as  a  Journalist. — His  Domestic  Tastes. — A 
Hale  and  Hearty  Patriarch. — A  Congenial  Companion  and  Clever 
Talker.  .......  399 

CHAPTER  XLVL 

THE  MARKETS. 

American  Extravagance  in  Living — Disagreeableness  of  Market-Going. — 
Liberal  Supplies  of  Everything. — The  Diiferent  Customers. — The 
Penurious-Wealthy.  —  Blushing  Brides  and  Cheap  Boarding  House 
Keepers. — The  Scale  of  Prices. — The  Evening  Market.  .  405 

CHAPTER  XLVIL 

THE  POST  OFFICE. 

The  Old  Dutch  Church  the  Most  Popular  in  Town. — Immense  Business  of 
the  Metropolitan  Office. — Anxious  Inquirers  and  Insolent  Clerks. — 
Letter- Writers  and  Letter-Getters. — The  General  Delivery. — The  Dif- 
ferent Stations. — Their  Illegitimate  Use.       .  .  .  415 

CHAPTER  XLVIIL 

THE  GAMINS, 

Their  Antecedents  and  Training. — Their  Favorite  Callings  and  Pleasures. 
— Persevering  Boot-Blacks  and  Energetic  Newsboys. — The  Bowery 
Theatre  Resort. — Decline  and  Development  of  the  Urchins. — Natural 
Results  of  Bad  Education.     .....  424 


Contents.  15 

CHAPTER  XLIX. 

THE  DExMI-MONDB 

The  Relation  of  the  Sexes. — Man's  Injustice  and  Woman's  Wrongs.-— 
Courtesans  in  the  Metropohs. — Their  Character  and  CalKng. — Their 
Life,  Love  and  Redeeming  Traits. — Sad  Pictures  of  Fallen  Women.  434 

CHAPTER  L. 

THE  CLUBS. 

Their  Number  in  Manhattan. — The  Most  Famous  Club-Houses. — Their 
Management  and  Membership. — How  Women  Regard  Them. — The 
Centuiy,  Manhattan,  Union-League,  Travelers',  City,  New  York,  and 
Eclectic. — The  Deceased  Athenaeum. — Journalistic  Clubs. — Club  Life 
in  the  Great  City.  .....  442 

CHAPTER  LL 

THE  BEGGARS. 

Their  Nationality. — The  Throng  Licrcasing. — The  Four  Great  Classes. — 
The  Notorious  Mendicants. — A  New  Order. — The  Broadway  Blindman. 
— The  Old  Hag  near  Fulton  Ferry. — The  xirmless  Frenchman. — The 
Canal  Street  Humpback. — The  Noseless  Pole. — The  Mackerel ville 
Dwarf — Fortunes  of  the  Vagabond  Tribe.    .  .  .  456 

CHAPTER  LH. 

STREET  RAILWAYS. 

Their  Supposed  Origin. — Their  Supreme  Independence. — New  York  Made 
for  them. — Magnanimity  of  the  Managers. — The  Charmed  Life  of 
Passengers. — Wonders  of  the  Roads. — Haps  and  Mishaps  of  Travel. — 
The  Hero  of  a  Thousand  Cars. — Every -Day  Miracles.  .  466 

CHAPTER  LIIL 

THE  PAWNBROKERS. 

What  They  Represent  and  What  They  Are. — Under  the  Shadow  of  the 
Three  Balls. — Messrs.  Abrahams  and  Moses  in  their  Glory. — The 
Watch,  the  Diamond  Bracelets,  the  Keepsake. — Strange  History  of 
Pledges.  .......  473 

CHAPTER   LIV. 

CHILDREN'S  AID  SOCIETY. 

The  Boys  and  Girls'  Lodging  House. — How  they  are  Managed  and  Sup- 
ported.— Receipts  and  Expenditures. — The  Emigration  and  Restoring 
System. — Industrial  Schools.  Refuge  for  Homeless  Children. — Ad- 
vatange  of  the  Charity.  ....  483 


16  Contents. 

CHAPTER   LV. 

JAMES  GORDON  BENNETT. 

The  Child,  Boy  and  Man. — His  Education  for  the  Church. — Struggles  in 
America. — Choice  of  Journalism  for  a  Profession. — Frequent  Failures. 
— Establishment  of  the  Eierald. — Its  first  Success. — Peculiarities  of  the 
Man. — His  sole  Ambition  and  its  Realization. — His  private  Life.     491 

CHAPTER  LVL 

THE  CHINESE  EMBASSY  IN  NEW  YORK. 

What  One  of  the  Number  Thinks  of  the  Metropolis.— His  Experiences  of 
American  Life. — Puppies  for  Supper. — Peculiar  Rats. — The  City- 
Directory  as  a  Guide. — The  Cause  of  Fires. — "  Ghin  Sling"  in  Various 
Trying  Situations.      ......  499 

CHAPTER    LVIL 

JENKINSISM  IN  THE  METROPOLIS. 

The  Peculiar  Tribe. — Elaborate  Description  of  a  Wedding  by  one  of  the 
Fraternity. — The  Bride  and  Bridegroom. — The  Invited  Guests. — Who 
they  were,  and  how  they  Appeared. — Extraordinary  Scenes  at  the 
Altar. — New  Sensations  at  the  Reception.  .  .  509 

CHAPTER  LVIIL 

FASHIONABLE  WEDDINGS. 

What  they  Mean,  and  How  they  are  Managed. — Ambitious  Mammas  and 
Submissive  Daughters.—  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Flcetfast  and  their  Connubial 
Career. — The  Three  Essentials. — Grace  Church  Brown. — Mockeries  of 
Love.  .......  516 

CHAPTER  LIX. 

THE  CITY  MISSIONS. 

The  Five-Points  Mission. — The  Howard  Mission. — The  House  of  Industry. 
— Their  Regulations  and  Advantages. — Attendance,  Donations  and 
Expenses. — Intemperance  the  Cause  of  the  Evils.     .  .  523 

CHAPTER  LX. 

THE  TOMBS. 

Origin  of  the  Name. — The  Inner  Quadrangle. — The  Tiers  of  Gloomy 
Cells. — Character  of  the  Prisoners. — A  House  of  Detention, — The 
Three  Departments. — The  Police  Court  and  Court  of  Sessions. — Sunday 
Morning's  Tribunal. — Notorious  Criminals  who  Have  been  There. — 
The  Gallows  and  its  Victims. — Religious  Exercises.  528 


Contents.  17 

CHAPTER   LXI. 

THE  MIDNIGHT  MISSION. 

The  First  Movement  for  the  Reclamation  of  Fallen  AVomen. — The  Desti- 
tution of  the  Charity  in  New  York. — The  Asylum  in  Amity  St. — Plan 
of  Procedure. — Success  of  the  Enterprise. — The  Receptions. — Touching 
Scenes. — Repentant  and  Reformed  Courtesans. — What  the  Charity 
Teaches.  .......  535 

CHAPTER  LXn. 

ASSOCIATIONS  FOR  THE  POOR. 

Effectiveness  of  the  Charity. — Its  Origin  and  Progress. — How  it  is  Con- 
ducted.— Visits  to  the  Tenement-Houses. — What  is  Undertaken  and 
Accomplished. — The  Spirit  of  Humanity  at  Work. — Beautiful  Ex- 
amples. .....  .  .  542 

CHAPTER    LXni. 

WORKING  WOMEN'S  HOME. 

An  Excellent  Organization. — Mode  of  its  Management. — Weeping  Eyes 
Dried,  and  Wounded  Hearts  Healed. — Direction  of  the  Institution. — 
Benefits  Conferred  upon  the  Poor. — Reaching  the  Source  of  Suf- 
fering. .......  548 

CHAPTER  LXIV. 

THE   MILITARY. 

Fondness  for  Parade. — The  National  State  Guard. — The  First  Division. — 
The  Armories. — The  Crack  Regiments. — The  Seventh.— Its  Departure 
for  the  War. — The  Great  Sensation  in  Broadway. — Holiday  Sol- 
diers. .......  554 

CHAPTER   LXV. 

THE  FIRE  DEPARTMENT. 

The  Old  System  and  its  Evils.— The  Engine  Houses  in  Times  Past. — The 
Present  Department. — The  Steam  Engines  and  Horses. — Their  Advant- 
age and  Efficacy. — The  Dead  Rabbit  and  Decent  Fire-Boy.  561 

CHAPTER  LXVI. 

RACING  AND  FAST  HORSES. 

The  Union,  Long  Island  and  Fashion  Courses.— The  Jerome  Park— Fond- 
ness for  Horse  Flesh. — The  Passion  Growing. — Gentlemen's  Stables. — 
Millionaires  on  the  Road. — Vanderbill,  Bonner,  Jerome  and  Fellows. — 
Money  Invested  in  Blooded  Stock.— Pleasures  of  the  Tjrf.  568 


18  Contents. 

CHAPTER  LXVII. 

GIFT  ENTERPRISES  AND  SWINDLES . 

The  Many  Swindles  upon  CountrA'mcn. — Policy  Shops. — Lottery  Offices. 
— Infamous  Devices.— The  Rural  Regions  Flooded  with  Circulars. — 
Inability  of  the  Law  to  Reach  the  Rogues. — How  Mr.  Greenhorn  is 
Victimized.     .......  575 

CHAPTER  LXVIII. 

THE  WICKEDEST  WOMAN  IN  THE  CITY. 

Madame  Restell  the  Abortionist. — Her  Long  and  Shuddering  Career. — 
Her  Notorious  Trial  and  Acquittal. — Her  Dreadful  Secrets  and  Practices. 
— Her  Palace  in  Fifth  Avenue. — Her  Antecedents  and  Appearance.  582 

CHAPTER  LXIX. 

MATRIMONIAL  BROKERAGE.  ^ 

The  Brokers  in  the  City,  and  their  Manner  of  Operating. — Strange 
Revelations  of  Human  Weakness. — Foolish  Women  and  Hoary  Sim- 
pletons.— Snares  Laid  for  Feminine  Innocence.  .  .  588 

CFIAPTER  LXX. 

HERALDRY  ON  THE  HUDSON. 

The   Metropolitan  Passion  for  Titles. — The  Heraldry  OfEce. — Manner  of 

Conducting  it. — Smithers  in  search  of  his  Family. — Peculiar  Mode  of 

Making  Genealogical  Trees. — The  Plebeian  Magennises  and  the  Nor- 

1  man  Descent.     Absurdity  of  Patrician  Assumption.  .  596 

CHAPTER  LXXL 

THE  CHILD-ADOPTING  SYSTEM. 

How  it  is  Carried  On. — The  Women  Professionally  Engaged  in  It. — 
Singular  Disclosures. — Infants  of  all  Kinds  Furnished. — The  Baby 
Market  and  its  Fluctuations.  ....  603 

CHAPTER    LXXIL 

BANKERS  AND  WALL-STREET  OPERATORS. 

Daniel  Drew,  Brown  Brothers,  Leonard  W.  Jerome,  James  G.  King's  Sons, 
Jay  Cooke,  David  Groesbeck,  August  Belmont,  and  Fisk  &  Hatch,  611 

CHAPTER  LXXIIL 

CHARLES  O'CONOR. 

His  Early  Poverty  and  Industry. — His  Inclination  to  the  Law. — His  Em- 
inence at  the  Bar. — His  Singular  Political  Opinions. — His  Large  In- 
come and  Forensic  Capacity. — His  Present  Status.  .  618 


Contents.  19 

* 

CHAPTER  LXXIV. 

JAMES  T.  BRADY. 

His  Legal  Studies  and  Success. — His  Enthusiasm  for  Ireland,  and  Popu- 
larity with  the  Irish. — His  Deep  Interest  in  his  Clients. — His  Perpetual 
^  Speech  Making. — His  After-Dinner  Ardor.  .  .  622 

CHAPTER  LXXV. 

FERNANDO  WOOD. 

His  Past  Life.— His  First  Election  to  the  Mayoralty. — Double  Disappoint- 
ment of  the  Committee. — His  Conduct  and  Character. — Personal  Ap- 
pearance and  Influence.        .....  625 

CHAPTER  LXXVI. 

GEORGE  FRANCIS  TRAIN. 

An  Exaggerated  American. — His  Excentricities  at  Home  and  Abroad. — 
Book-making,  Speech-making,  and  Money-making, — His  Declaration 
that  he  is  in  no  Danger. — Called  a  Fool. — His  Supreme  Egotism  and 
Loquacity. — His  Real  Character.    .  .  .  .  629 

.  CHAPTER   LXXVIL 

FANNY  FERN. 

Parentage. — Girlhood. — Marriage. — Husbands  both  Struggle  with  Pover- 
ty.— First  Literary  Earnings. — Connection  with  the  Ledger. — "Fern 
Leaves"  and  "Ruth  Hall." — Second  Marriage. — Present  Position.  633 

CHAPTER  LXXVm. 

TWO  STRONG-MINDED  WOMEN. 

Susan  B.  Anthony  and  Elizabeth  Cady  Stanton. — The  Revolution. — What 
the  Woman's  Rights  Women  Are  and  Demand. — Their  Pen-Photo- 
graphs. .......  636 

CHAPTER  LXXIX. 

PETER  COOPER. 

History  of  a  Self- Made  Man. — His  various  Pursuits. — His  Benevolence  and 
Sympathy  with  the  People.— The  Cooper  Institute. — His  Honesty  and 
Sterling  Worth.       ......  640 

CHAPTER  LXXX. 

GEORGE  LAW. 

His  Early  Struggle's. — Contracts  the  Beginning  of  his  Fortune. — The 
George  Law  Markets. — His  Personal  Unpopularity  and  Common-Place 
Appearance. — His  Day  Gone  By.  .  .  .  642 


2D  Contexts. 

CHAPTER  LXXXL 

PETER  B,  SWEENEY. 

His  Political  Power  and  Excessive  Tact. — The  Championship  of  the  Ring. 
— His  Large  Wealth  and  Devotion  to  the  Democracy. — The  Manner  of 
Man  he  is.     .  .  .  .  .  .  .  645 

CHAPTER  LXXXn. 

DISTINGUISED  CLERGYMEN. 

Revs.  Edwin  H.  Chapin,  Henry  C.  Potter,  Wm.  Adams,  Henry  W. 
Bellows,  Stephen  H.  Tyng,  junior,  Morgan  Dix,  F.  C.  Ewer,  C.  W. 
Morrill,  Thomas  Armitage,  0.  B.  Frothingham,  Archbishop  McCloske5^ 
— Samuel  Osgood. — H.  B.  Ridgaway. — Rabbi  Adler.  .  647 

CHAPTER  LXXXHL 

JOHN  ALLEN,  "  THE  WICKEDEST  MAN." 

The  Religious  Excitement. — John  Allen's  Dance-House. — The  Prayer 
Meetings  in  Water-Street. — Their  Good  Effect. — The  Insincerity  of 
Ruffians  no  Reason  for  Censure.       ....  659 

CHAPTER  LXXXIV. 

MARK  M.  POMEROY. 

His  Nativity  and  Wanderings. — His  Career  in  the  West. — La  Cross  Demo- 
crat.— His  Establishment  of  a  Daily  in  New  York. — His  Violent  Politi- 
cal Course. — What  he  is  and  How  he  Looks.  .  .  663 

CHAPTER  LXXXV. 

EMINENT  BUSINESS  MEN. 

Grinnell,  Minturn  &  Co.,  Horace  B.  Claflin,  Howland,  Aspinwall  &  Co.,  A. 
A.  Law  &  Bros.,  E.  S.  Jaffray  &  Co.,  Plarper  &  Bros.,  D.  Appleton  & 
Co.,  Jackson  S.  Schultz,  Charles  A.  Stetson,  the  Lelands,  R.  L.  &  A. 
Stuart.  .......  666 

CHAPTER   LXXXVL 

OUNG  MEN'S  CHRISTIAN  ASSOCIATION. 

Its  Origin  and  Conductors. — Excellence  and  Influence  of  the  Society. — 
What  its  Members  have  Accomplished. — Their  Work  During  the  War. 
— Their  Hospitality  to  Strangers.— Result  of  their  Labors.  677 

CHAPTER  LXXXVn. 

PUBLIC  SCHOOLS. 

The  Day  and  Evening  Schools. — Girls'  Normal  Schools. — Evening  High 
School. — Free  Academy — Attendance  and  Aptitude  of  Pupils. — The 
System  of  Instruction  and  its  Success. — Women  Superseding  Men  as 
Teachers.        .......  680 


Contents.  21 

CHAPTER  LXXXVIIL 

DISTINGUISHED  WOMEN. 

Alice  and  Phoebe  Gary.— Mary  Clemmer  Ames.— Kate  Field.— Lucia  Gil- 
bert Calhoun.— Octavia  Walton  Levert.— Jennie  June.— Mary  B. 
Dodge.— Sarah  F.  Ames.      .....  684 

CHAPTER  LXXXIX. 

CITY  CHARITIES. 

Divers  Institutions.— Ward's  Island.— Hospitals.— Orphan,  Deaf  and 
Dumb  and  Insane  Asylums.— The  Buildings  and  Inmates.— Mode  of 
Treating  Patients.— Liberality  and  Benevolence  of  New  Yorkers.    690 

CHAPTER   XC. 

THE  GREAT  METROPOLIS. 

Its  Advantages  and  Disadvantages.— Improvements  Everywhere.— Up- 
Town  Splendors.— The  Future  of  Manhattan.— The  City  Destined  to 
be  the  Largest  in  the  World.  .  .  .  .  697 


Sk 


_  ARCHITECTrnAL    CONTRAST. 


r.USTXKSS   COXTHAST. 


CHAPTER  I . 
RICH    AND    POOR. 

In  the  Metropolis,  more  than  in  any  other  American 
city,  there  are  two  great  and  distinct  classes  of  people — 
those  who  pass  their  days  in  trying  to  make  money 
enough  to  live;  and  those  who,  having  more  than 
enough,  are  troubled  about  the  manner  of  spending 
it.  The  former  suffer  from  actual  ills ;  the  latter  from 
imaginary  ones.  Those  lead  a  hard  life;  these  an 
empty  one.  Those  suffer  from  penury ;  these  from 
ennui.  Each  envies  the  other;  and  both  find  exist- 
ence wearisome,  and  diflicult  to  endure.  But  the  poor 
have  the  advantage  in  necessary  honesty  and  earnest- 
ness; while  the  prosperous  dwell  in  an  atmosphere  of 
insincerity  and  sham. 

It  is  the  custom  to  prate  of  the  discontents  of  the 
rich.  Yet  we  are  all  ambitious  to  share  them,  and  to 
learn  by  experience  the  weight  of  purple  robes  and 
the  sharpness  of  gilded  thorns. 

Our  citizens  who  figure  in  the  income  list  have  no 
season  of  repose.  When  not  engrossed  in  their  busi- 
ness pursuits,  (it  is  the  misfortune  of  this  Republic  tliat 
few  of  its  inhabitants  ever  learn  to  enjoy  their  wealth 
calmly  until  it  is  too  late,)  they  are  either  planning 
campaigns  at,.the  watering-places  and  tours  in  Europe, 
or  perplexing  themselves  with  the  most  approved  and 


24  Rich  a^id  Poor. 

distinguished  manner  of  entertaining  their  fashionable 
friends  in  town. 

They  endeavor  to  leave  such  complicated  affairs 
to  women.  But  the  women  seek  counsel  of,  and 
ever  lean  on,  their  masculine  companions,  and  compel 
them,  whether  they  will  or  not,  to  bear  the  burthen  of 
leading  a  glittering,  though  hollow  life,  which  rarely 
palls  upon  the  feminine  mind,  occupied  with  externals, 
'and  reveling  in  appearances.  So  the  Adams,  even  to 
the  present  day,  pay  the  penalty  of  the  temptation  of 
Eve,  and  eat  more  sour  apples  than  they  do  sweet  ones, 
in  the  society  of  their  irresistible  charmers. 

New-York  is  unquestionably  the  paradise  of  women. 
It  is  to  the  United-  States  what  Paris  is  to  Europe ; 
and  the  fairer  portion  of  creation,  who  dwell  out  of 
this  vast  and  crowded  City,  remember  their  promenade 
in  Broadway,  their  suppers  at  Delmonico's,  their  eve- 
nings at  the  Academy,  and  their  drives  in  the  Park, 
with  a  longing  for  their  repetition  that  is  almost  akin 
to  pain. 

No  where  else,  they  fondly  imagine,  are  such  dresses, 
and  bonnets,  and  shawls,  and  jewelry  to  be  purchased; 
no  where  else  can  they  be  so  generally  admired; 
no  where  else  can  pleasure  be  found  in  such  varied 
form. 

Even  Greenwood  has  its  mortuary  fascinations.  The 
monuments  look  whiter  there,  the  grass  greener,  the 
graves  more  genteel,  the  trees  more  droopingly  sym- 
pathetic than  in  other  cemeteries.  And  then  the  sub- 
terranean sleepers  must  have  pleasant  dreams  of  the 
excitements  and  sensations  they  enjoyed  in  the  flesh 
on  the  island  of  Manhattan.  When  they  die,  they 
hope,  in  a  sentimentally  pious  way,  to  take  their  last 


Rich  and  Poor.  25 

rest  in  such  goodly  company,  and  have  whiter  roses 
strewn  above  them,  that  grew  in  hot-houses,  and  were 
chpped  with  silver  shears. 

Fifth,  Madison  and  Lexington  avenues.  Fourteenth, 
Twenty-third  and  Thirty-fourth  streets,  Madison,  Stuy- 
vesant  and  Grammercy  squares  are  among  the  chosen 
abodes  of  the  fashionable  and  wealthy,  who  ever  tend 
up  town,  and  will  soon  make  the  Central  Park  the  nu- 
cleus of  their  exclusive  homes. 

During  the  season,  Saratoga,  Newport,  Paris  and 
Florence  are,  for  the  time,  dismissed,  and  home  pleas- 
ures are  alone  considered. 

Receptions,  sociables  and  "Germans"  are  the  social 
events  of  those  modish  quarters;  and  milliners,  man- 
tua-makers,  hair-dressers,  flower-venders,  confectioners, 
and  musicians,  are  busy  from  morning  to  night  in  lend- 
ing their  expensive  assistance  to  the  devotees  of  fash- 
ion in  the  arduous  art  of  killing  time  elegantly. 

Weddings,  and  their  subsequent  assemblies  are  at 
their  height  then.  Hymen  consorts  with  Cytherea, 
Juno  and  Bacchus,  and  supplies  his  torch  with  love- 
letters  of  the  past,  and  capers  nimbly  upon  hearts 
whence  Mammon  has  expelled  romance  and  the  ideals 
of  other  days. 

All  New- York  is  in  the  midst  of  gayety  and  dissipa- 
tion, and  judging  by  surfaces,  Eden  is  not  far  from  the 
banks  of  the  Hudson.  Brilliant  carriages,  with  liveried 
coachmen  and  footmen  and  sleek  horses,  dash  up  and 
down  the  avenues,  depositing  their  perfumed  inmates 
before  brilliantly-lighted,  high-stooped,  brown-stone 
fronts,  whence  the  sound  of  merry  voices  and  voluptu- 
ous music  comes  wooingly  out,  through  frequently- 
opened  doors,  into  the  chilly  night. 


26  The  Great  Metropolis. 

One  catches  a  glimpse  of  fair  faces,  and  the  odor  of 
elaborate  toilettes  as  pretty  women  hurry  up  the  broad 
steps  with  kindling  eyes  and  rosy  lips,  and  disappear 
like  beautiful  visions  amid  the  bewildering  delights 
that  are  more  seductive  to,  because  they  can  only  be 
conjectured  by,  the  less  fortunate  wayfarers  who  are 
trudging  to  their  humble  homes,  anxious  and  fatigued, 
and  uncertain  of  the  morrow. 

Oh,  the  inequality  of  Fortune !  It  must  be  hard  for 
the  poor  and  distressed  to  believe  that  God  is  good, 
and  Life  a  blessing,  when  they  see  every  hour  that 
thousands,  in  no  way  worthier,  lie  softly  and  fare 
daintily,  while  they  go  hungry  and  cold,  and  have  no 
expectations  of  the  better  times  that  are  always  coming 
and  never  come. 

Life  at  its  best  is  seen  in  this  splendid  mansion, 
where  all  is  warmth,  and  color,  and  richness,  and  per- 
fume. The  gilded  drawing-rooms  are  crowded  with  a 
confusion  of  silks,  and  velvets,  and  laces,  and  broad- 
cloth, and  flowers,  and  jewels;  and  from  the  seeming- 
happy  crowd  arises  a  pleasant  hum  of  low-toned  voices, 
as  if  passion  would  never  lift  them,  or  pain  make  them 
discordant,  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave. 

One  meets  th^re  no  shadows,  no  frowns,  no  haunt- 
ing cares.  All  individuality  is  lost.  Everything  is 
toned  down  to  a  level  of  conventional  similarity.  All 
are  maskers;  and  the  maskers  deceive  themselves,  as 
well  as  others,  respecting  their  true  character,  and  go 
through  life,  as  through  the  revel,  dully  and  dream- 
ily,— believing  they  are  happy  because  they  are  not 
sad,  and  that  they  are  useful  members  of  society  be- 
cause they  attend  church,  and  envy  their  neighbors, 
and  pay  their  taxes  punctually. 


PticH  AND  Poor.  27 

Probably  there  are  hearts  in  the  crowd  distrustful 
if  that  be  joy;  but  the  wine  is  offered,  and  the  music 
swells,  and  beauty  beckons,  and  they  float  down  the 
stream  of  pleasure,  careless  where  it  glides,  and  of  the 
dark  and  fatal  eddies  that  whirl  below.  The  influ- 
ence of  the  hour  is  to  drown  thought  and  stifle  feeling ; 
and  he  who  can  accomplish  that  will  not  suffer. 

Dancing,  and  feasting,  and  flirting,  and  gossip  bind 
the  hours  with  fragrant  chaplets,  and  the  duties  and 
purposes  of  life  sink  into  a  soft  oblivion;  while  that  is 
remembered  only  which  is  pleasant  to  bear  in  mind; 
and  yields  fruitage  for  self-love. 

The  night  reels,  like  a  drunken  Bacchant,  away; 
and  the  stars  grow  pale  as  the  revelers  depart  with 
bounding  blood  and  dazed  senses  to  the  embroidered 
chambers  that  hold  sweet  sleep  in  silken  chains. 

Life  at  its  worst  is  visible  not  a  hundred  rods  away. 
Yet  to  enter  that  wretched  tenement-house,  where  the 
air  is  close  and  impure,  who  would  suppose  he  was  in 
the  same  city  in  which  so  much  splendor  and  gayety 
are  revealed? 

A  family  in  every  room  here,  and  sickness,  and  de- 
bauch, and  poverty,  and  pain  on  every  floor.  Groans, 
and  curses,  and  riotous  laughter,  and  reckless  boister- 
ousness  echo  through  those  dingy  halls,  and  steal  up 
and  down  those  greasy  stairways,  every  desolate  hour 
of  the  unwholesome  day.  Poison  is  in  the  atmosphere, 
and  new-born  babes  breathe  it  before  they  suck  their 
sickly  mothers'  sickly  milk.  Half  a  million  of  souls 
live  in  these  pest-places.  Vice,  and  crime,  and  death 
are  their  product,  year  after  year ;  and,  amid  constant 
vaporings  about  Reform,    Christianity,   Progress  and 


28  The  Great  Metropolis. 

Enlightenment,  the  yield  is  steady  and  the  dark  har- 
vest growing. 

Have  any  of  those  bright  eyes  that  swim  in  self- 
satisfaction  at  the  brilliant  receptions  looked  within 
these  dreary  walls?  Do  the  kind  hearts  that  must 
throb  warmly  and  sympathetically  beneath  the  flowing 
robe  and  embroidered  vest,  hold  knowledge  of  these 
silent  tragedies  that  the  poor  of  this  Great  City  are 
actors  in  ?  The  prosperous  are  not  unfeeling ;  but 
they  do  not  know  what  incalculable  good  they  might 
do  if  they  would  rightly  set  themselves  to  work  to  re- 
lieve the  wretched  of  their  race.  They  have  their 
round  of  pleasures,  and  they  are  full.  They  little  think 
what  responsibilities  their  wealth  has  placed  upon 
them ;  what  gods  mere  vulgar  money  might  make 
them  in  potentiality  of  blessing. 

Clouds  and  sunshine,  corpse  lights  and  bridal  lamps, 
joy-anthems  and  funeral-dirges,  contrast  and  mingle 
in  New-  York !  Every  ripple  of  light-hearted  laughter 
is  lost  in  its  faintest  echoes  in  a  wail  of  distress. 
Every  happy  smile  is  reflected  from  a  dark  background 
of  despair. 

The  Metropolis  is  a  symbol,  an  intensification  of  the 
country.  Broadw^ay  represents  the  national  life, — the 
energy,  the  anxiety^  the  bustle,  and  the  life  of  the  re- 
public at  large. 

Take  your  stand  there,  and  Maine,  and  Louisiana, 
the  Carolinas,  and  California,  Boston^  and  Chicago,  pass 
before  you. 

So  the  Bowery,  and  Wall  street,  and  Fifth  avenue, 
with  their  different  figures  and  types, — each  manifest- 
ing many,  and  many  one.  Beggars  and  millionaires, 
shoulder-hitters  and  thinkers,  burglars  and  scholars, 


«      Rich  and  Poor.  29 

fine  women  and  fortune-tellers,  journalists  and  pawn- 
brokers, gamblers  and  mecbanics,  bere,  as  everywbere 
else,  crowd  and  jostle  eacb  otber,  and  all  bold  and  fill 
tbeir  places  in  some  mysterious  way. 

Out  of  tbe  motley  million,  eacb,  bowever  blindly, 
tries  to  better  bis  condition;  seeks  bis  bappiness,  as 
be  conceives  it;  and  arrives  at  ruin  or  prosperity, 
ignorance  or  culture,  bealtb  or  disease,  long  life  or 
early  deatb. 

Sympatby  is  tbe  weigbt  tbat  drags  us  down  in  our 
struggle  witb  tbe  devouring  sea.  Cast  it  off,  and  we 
swim  freely. 

Seliisbness  is  tbe  friendly  plank  we  grasp  for  safety. 
Holding  it,  we  may  reacb  tbe  land,  and  tben  return 
witb  cbarity  to  belp  our  sbipwrecked  fellows,  and 
preserve  tbem  from  tbe  dangers  from  wbicb  we  bave 
escaped. 

Alas,  tbat  tbose  wbo  reacb  tbe  sbore  so  rarely  ven- 
ture to  sea  again! 

Tears  and  woe  will  come.  Let  us  not  go  far  to 
meet  tbem.  Take  care  of  to-day,  and  tbe  morrow  will 
provide  for  itself 

Expect  tbe  best,  and  tbe  worst  will  be  less  likely 
to  bappen.  Believe  yourself  fortunate,  and  you  bave 
already  robbed  Fate  of  balf  its  power  to  barm.  Wbat 
we  mainly  suffer  from  is  tbe  tilings  tbat  never  occur ; 
for  tbe  sbadows  of  anticipation  are  more  formidable 
tban  tbe  substance  of  tbe  actual. 

Tbe  carriage  is  at  tbe  door,  my  friend.  Sbut  up  tbe 
sbadow-book,  and  step  into  tbe  ligbt  of  tbe  outer 
world.  We  will  ride  along  rapidly  wbile  we  can,  and 
walk  wben  we.  cannot  ride  ;  for  we  will  go  into  tbe 


30  The  Great  Metropolis. 

under- ground  haunts,  as  well  as  the  upper  abodes  of 
amusement  and  pleasure. 

Through  and  into  New  York  we  will  look  with  calm, 
yea,  philosophic — eye ;  see  its  open  and  hidden  mys- 
teries at  every  angle  ;  observe  the  places  we  enter, 
and  analyze  the  people  we  encounter. 

Regard  all  men-  and  women  as  brothers  and  sisters, 
never  to  be  hated,  but  only  to  be  pitied  in  that  they 
are  less  fortunate  than  we.  Become  great  and  uni- 
versal democrats;  and  think  nothing  mean  that  is  hu- 
man; nothing  wholly  ill;  no  sin  so  enormous  that 
sympathy  may  not  reach  and  charity  cover  it  truly 
and  tenderly. 

Leave  Nersea  to  admire  her  beautiful  eyes  in  the 
mirror ;  for  it  will  be  more  flattering  to  her  than  her 
fondest  lover.  If  she  weep,  she  will  soon  dry  her 
eyes ;  for  tears  she  is  aware  dim  their  lustre.  She  is 
fair,  and  shapely,  and  elegant;  but  is  no  better  in 
spirit  and  at  heart,  than  the  rude  and  homely  Janette, 
who  was  bqrn  out  of  parallel  with  Nature.  Janette 
went  astray,  since  the  path  that  lay  before  her  was 
hard  and  crooked,  as  are  so  many  ways  of  this  World 
that  we  knownot  whether  to  love  or  hate  it,  but  which, 
after  all,  is  the  best  we  have  seen. 


CHAPTER    II. 
SOCIETY    IN    THE    METROPOLIS. 

New-York  is  quite  as  much  the  fashionable,  as  it  is 
the  commercial  metropolis ;  for  here  are  the  age,  the 
wealth,  the  caste-feeling  and  the  social  lines  of  demark- 
ation  that  so  largely  aid  in  forming  and  sustaining 
what  is  known  as  Society.  In  the  United  States  gene- 
rally the  duties  we  owe  to  society  sit  rather  loosely 
upon  "free-born  Americans."  But  in  New  York  they 
are  such  obhgations  as  we  feel  called  upon  conscien- 
tiously to  discharge,  and  do  discharge  upon  pain  of 
modish  ostracism. 

Fashion  upon  Manhattan  Island  will  admit  of  no 
compromise  with  Reason,  and  refuses  to  listen  to  the 
voice  of  Common-Sense.  She  demands  her  fullest 
rights,  and  her  devotees  yield  them  with  a  zeal  that 
savors  of  social  superstition. 

Fully  half  a  million  of  our  population  are  absorbed 
in  a  perpetual  struggle  to  avoid  physical  suffering ; 
while  a  hundred  thousand,  probably  pass  their  lives 
either  in  being,  or  trying  to  be  fashionable.  That 
hundred  thousand  are  very  gay.  and  seem  positively 
happy.  Yet  their  woes  and  throes  are  innumerable; 
and  their  struggles  with  conventionality  and  gentility, 
though  less  severe,  are  as  numerous  as  those  of  the 
half  million  with  penury  and  want. 


32  The  Great  Metropolis. 

What  our  best  society  is  will  never  be  determined 
to  the  satisfaction  of  more  than  one  of  the  cliques,  or 
coteries,  or  sets  that  assume  to  represent  it.  Each  and 
all  of  them  claim  they  are  it^^ar  excellence  j  and  each 
and  all  go  on  in  their  own  specific  way,  saturated  with 
the  conviction  that  they  are  the  conservers  and  pre- 
servers of  the  finenesses,  and  courtesies,  and  elegan- 
cies of  the  fashionable  elect. 

No  society  in  the  world  has  more  divisions  and  sub- 
divisions than  ours — more  ramifications  and  inter-rami- 
fications,— more  circles  within  circles — more  segments 
and  parts  of  segments.  They  begin  in  assumption 
and  end  in  absurdity.  They  are  as  fanciful  as  mathe- 
matical lines ;  and  yet  so  strong  that  they  c^^n  hardly 
be  broken,  and  can  rarely  be  crossed. 

The  grand  divisions  may  be  stated,  though  the  sub- 
divisions may  not ;  for  they  depend  on  religious  creeds, 
on  community  of  avocation,  on  contiguity  of  resi- 
dence, and  a  hundred  nameless  things.  The  grand 
divisions,  like  all  that  appertains  to  society,  are  purely 
conventional,  wholly  without  foundation  in  reason  or 
propriety.  They  depend  upon  what  is  called  family, 
— on  profession,  wealth  and  culture, — the  last  con- 
sidered least,  because  it  alone  is  of  importance,  and 
deserving  of  distinction.  Family,  inasmuch  as  few 
persons  in  this  country  know  who  were  their  great 
grandfathers,  puts  forth  the  strongest  claim  and  makes 
the  loftiest  pretension. 

The  old  Knickerbockers,  as  they  style  themselves, 
insist  upon  it  that  they  should  have  the  first  place  in 
society;  and,  as  most  of  them  inherited  real  estate 
from  their  ancestors,  that  they  were  too  conservative 
to  sell,  and   too  parsimonious   to  mortgage,  they  can 


Society  in  the  Metropolis.  33 

support  their  pretensions  by  assured  incomes  and 
large  bank  accounts,  without  Avhich  gentility  is  an 
empty  word,  and  fashion  a  mockery  and  a  torment. 

All  the  Yans  and  those  bearing  names  suggestive  of 
Holland,  vow  they  are  of  the  Knickerbocker  stock, 
albeit  it  is  said,  some  who  were  Smiths  and  Joneses 
two  or  three  generations  ago  have  since  become  Yan 
Smythes  and  Yan  Johannes. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  the  actual  or  would  be  Knicker- 
bockers, are  often  the  narrowest  and  dullest  people  on 
the  Island,  and  have  done  much  to  induce  the  belief  that 
stupidity  and  gentility  are  synonymous  terms.  They 
have  fine  houses  generally,  in  town  and  country;  have 
carriages  and  furniture  with  crests,  though  their  fore- 
fithers  sold  rum  near  Hanover  Square,  or  cast  nets  in 
East  river ;  live  expensively  and  pompously  ;  display 
conspicuously  in  their  private  galleries  their  plebeian 
ancestors  in  patrician  wigs  and  ruffles,,  that  the  thrifty 
old  Dutchmen  never  dreamed  of  among  their  barrels 
of  old  Jamaica,  or  their  spacious  and  awkward  seines. 
They  do  all  those  showy  things;  yet  are  they 
degenerate  sons  of  worthier  sires,  because  they  have 
one  virtue  less  than  they, — honesty, — and  a  defect, — 
pretension, — that  puts  the  bar  sinister  upon  all  truly 
distinguished  lineage.  The  Knickerbockers  incline  to 
entertainments  and  receptions  where  dreary  platitudes 
pass  for  conversation,  and  well-intending  men  and 
women,  whom  nature  would  not  bless  with  w^t,  fall 
asleep,  and  dream  of  a  heaven  in  which  they  seem 
clever  forevermore. 

The  livers  upon  others'  means  form  the  second  class 
of  our  best  society,  without  special  regard  to  their 
genealogy.     They  sometimes   boast  that  they  do  not 


34  The  Great  Metropolis. 

work  themselves,  and  reveal  their  vulgarity  by  the 
vulgar  boast ;  but  fancy  that  they  have  inherited  gen- 
tleness of  blood  with  the  fortunes  that  came  unearned 
into  their  possession. 

Not  a  few  of  these  have  three  or  four  generations  of 
ease  and  luxury  behind  them ;  and  consequently  the 
men  and  women  are  comely,  and  have  good  manners 
and  correct  instincts ;  are  quite  agreeable  as  compan- 
ions, and  capable  of  friendship.  To  this  division  of 
the  community,  art  and  literature  are  largely  indebted 
for  encouragement,  and  Broadway  and  Fifth-avenue 
to  many  of  their  attractions. 

These  people  patronize  the  opera,  Wallack's,  the 
classical  concerts;  furnish  the  most  elegant  equipages 
to  the  Park,  and  the  most  welcome  guests  to  Saratoga, 
Newport  and  Long  Branch.  They  wear  genuine  dia- 
monds, and  laces  and  India  shawls  ;  speak  pure  French 
.and  elegant  English, — many  of  them  at  least ;  and  are, 
on  the  whole,  very  endurable  when  they  are  thrown 
into  contact  with  persons  who  value  them  for  what 
Ihey  are,  and  not  for  Avhat  they  are  worth. 

They  are  most  injured  by  too  much  association  with 
each  other,  and  by  lack  of  some  earnest  and  noble 
purpose  in  a  life  they  find  it  difficult  to  fill  with  aught 
beside  frivolity. 

The  cultivatedly  comfortable,  who  are  the  third  and 
best  representatives  of  our  society,  give  it  its  best  and 
highest  tone  from  the  fact  that  they  are  independent, 
broad  and  sensible.  Successful  authors  and  artists 
belong  to  this  class,  and  all  the  families  who  have 
ideas  beyond  money,  and  consider  culture  quite  equal 
to  five-twenties.  They  lend  a  helping  hand  to  those 
who  arc  struggling  in  the  sphere  of  Art,  whether  the 


Society  in  the  Metropolis.  35 

form  be  marble,  colors,  sounds,  or  words ;  and  believe 
that  refinement  and  generosity  are  the  bes-t  evidences 
of  developed  character.  They  give  the  most  agree- 
able receptions  in  the  city, — quiet  gatherings  of  poets, 
authors,  paintei  s,  sculptors,  journalists,  and  actors  occa- 
sionally,— without  vulgar  parade,  or  cumbersome  form 
or  wearisome  routine.  This  class  exercises  a  strong  and 
marked  influence,  and  is  rapidly  increasing  ;  for,  though 
really  democratic,  it  is  aristocratic  in  the  true  sense. 

The  new  rich  are  at  present  stronger  and  more  nu- 
merous than  ever  in  New  York.  They  profited  by 
contracts  and  speculations  during  the  War,  and  are 
now  a  power  in  the  Metropolis, — a  power  that  is  satir- 
ized and  ridiculed,  but  a  power  nevertheless.  They 
are  exceedingly  ijrononce^  hizarre^  and  generally  man- 
age to  render  themselves  very  absurd ;  but,  inasmuch 
as  they  annoy  and  worry  the  Knickerbockers,  who 
have  less  money  and  are  more  stupid  than  they,  I  pre- 
sume they  have  their  place  and  achieve  a  purpose  in 
the  social  life  of  Gotham. 

These  are  the  people  who  flare  and  flash  so  at  the 
places  of  amusements,  on  the  public  promenades  and 
in  the  principal  thoroughfares,  and  whom  strangers 
regard  as  the  exponents  of  our  best  ^society,  when 
they  really  represent  the  worst.  They  outdress  and 
outshine  the  old  families,  the  cultivatedly  comfortable, 
the  inheritors  of  fortunes,  and  everybody  else,  in 
whatever  money  can  purchase  and  bad  taste  can  sug- 
gest. 

They  have  the  most  imposing  edifices  on  the  Avenue, 
the  most  striking  liveries,  the  most  expensive  jewelry, 
the  most  gorgeous  furniture,  the  worst  manners,  and 
the   most  barbarous  English.     They   prejudice  plain 


36  The  Great  Metropolis. 

persons  against  wealth,  inducing  them  to  believe  that 
its  accamulation  is  associated  with  indelicacy,  pretense 
and  tawdriness,  and  that  they  who  are  materially 
prosperous  are  so  at  the  price  of  much  of  their  native 
judgment  and  original  good  sense.  After  two  or  three 
generations,  even  the  new  rich  will  become  tolerable ; 
will  learn  to  use  their  forks  instead  of  their  knives  in 
transferring  their  food-  to  their  mouths ;  will  fathom 
the  subtle  secret  that  impudence  is  not  ease,  and  that 
assumption  and  good  breeding  are  diametrically  op- 
posed. 

The  mere  adventurers  are  an  itinerant  class  of  New- 
York  society,  which  flashes  and  makes  a  noise  for  a 
few  months,  or  years,  possibly,  and  then  goes  out,  and 
is  heard  no  more.  They  are  of  the  new  rich  sort  in 
appearance  and  manners,  but  more  reckless,  more  tin- 
seled and  more  vulgar, — because  they  are  aware  their 
day  is  brief,  and  the  total  eclipse  of  their  glory  nigh. 

In  the  Spring  we  see  their  mansions  resplendent  and 
their  carriages  glittering  oj)pressively  through  the 
drives  of  the  Park  and  along  the  Bloomingdale  road. 
In  the  Autumn,  the  red  flag  is  displayed  from  the  sat- 
in-damasked windows,  and  placards,  on  which  are  in- 
scribed "Sheriff's  sale,"  are  posted  on  the  handsome 
stables,  where  blooded  horses  stand  ungroomed  in 
rosewood  stalls. 

The  adventurers  live  upon  the  top  of  a  bubble 
which  they  know  will  burst  soon,  but  which,  they  de- 
sign to  enjoy  while  they  can.  They  come  here  with 
some  means  or  some  credit,  and  go  largely  into  an 
operation, — whether  in  advertising  a  patent  medicine 
or  "bearing"  a  leading  stock,  it  matters  little, — talk 
largely  and  coolly  of  their  ability  to  lose  hundreds  of 


Society  in  the  Metropolis.  37 

thousands  without  hurting  them,  but  subsequently  de- 
clare they  have  made  as  much ;  and  on  this  plane  of 
assurance  contract  enormous  debts,  and  drive  four-in- 
hand  to  the  devil. 

How  many  of  these  failures  do  I  remember !  How 
like  a  volcano  they  blazed,  and  at  last  hid  their  fires  in 
smouldering  ashes  and  unsightly  cinders !  They  had  a 
good  time  no  doubt,  in  their  own  estimation,  and  rel- 
ished the  joke  of  cajoling  the  unfortunate  tradesmen 
who  played  the  sycophant  for  custom.  They  teach 
lessons,  these  adventurers,  but  give  more  expensive 
ones  than  they  take,  or  are  willing  to  pay  for. 

The  sham  and  snobbery  of  our  society  are  in  the 
main  indisputable,  and  far  beyond  those  of  any  city  in 
the  Union ;  for  there  is  a  constant  inroad  upon  the 
Metropolis  of  wealthy  vulgarity  and  prosperous  coarse- 
ness, from  every  part  of  the  country,  giving  us  more 
sinners  against  good  breeding  than  we  can  conveni- 
ently bear,  or  should  be  charged  with  on  our  own  ac- 
count. Indeed,  we  have  too  much  of  the  native 
article  to  require  importation,  and  could  better  afford 
to  part  with  what  grows  spontaneously  here  for  the 
disadvantage  of  other  less  pretentious,  but  more  de- 
serving cities. 

New-York  society  furnishes  such  themes  for  the 
satirist  as  no  other  place  can,  since  its  assumption  and 
hollowness  are  greater,  and  its  pretensions  to  superi- 
ority more  insolent. 

Wealth  is  good ;  but  refinement,  and  culture,  and  puri- 
ty, and  nobleness  are  better.  Everything  not  dishonest 
nor  dishonorable  merits  a  certain  degree  of  respect  and 
esteem,  so  long  as  it  does  not  assume  to  be  other  than 
it  is.     But,  when  wealth  claims  to  be  virtue,  or  culture 


38  The  Great  Metropolis. 

lineage,  or  purity  elegance,  or  impudence  genius,  tliej 
all  become  vulgarized. 

When  will  our  American  citizens  cease  to  imitate 
Europe, — copying  the  vices  of  the  titled,  and  omitting 
their  virtues  ?  When  will  they  learn  that  thorough 
good  breeding,  as  well  as  entire  honesty,  consists  in 
daring  to  seem  what  they  are,  and  in  valuing  manhood 
and  womanhood  above  their  accidental  surroundings? 
Eemember,  oh  worshippers  of  Sham,  that  you  never 
impose  upon  others  as  you  do  upon  yourselves,  and 
that  simplicity  and  truth  are  the  bravest  quarterings 
on  the  shield  of  genuine  nobility ! 

The  American  gentleman  and  lady,  strictly  such  are 
not  to  be  excelled  by  the  titled  of  any  land ;  for  they 
are  the  crownless  kings  and  queens  whose  spiritual 
sceptres  rule  with  a  power  of  gentleness  further  and 
wider  than  the  eye  can  see. 

Even  in  our  most  artificial  circles,  the  best  and  loy- 
alest  are  to  be  found.  Beneath  the  glitter  of  jewels 
and  the  costliest  laces  are  bosoms  full  of  sympathy  and 
tenderness,  and  souls  whose  aspirations  are  after  an 
ideal  goodness. 

There  are  fastidious  men  and  dainty  women  who 
are  better  and  gentler  for  their  carpets  of  velvet  and 
couches  of  down  ;  who  do  good  in  unknown  ways ;  who 
stand  by  beds  of  suffering  and  at  the  hearth  of  pover- 
rty,  and  make  them  easier  and  lighter  for  their  coming 
and  their  comfort. 

Fifth  avenue  and  Grammercy  Park  are  not  so  far 
from  the  Five  Points  and  the  Fourth  ward  as  is  gener- 
ally supposed. 

Out  of  carved  doorways,  and  down  stately  staircases, 
go  elaborately  dressed  messengers  of  charity,  and  silk- 


Society  in  the  Metropolis.  39 

en  purses  are  unloosed  by  jeweled  fingers  to  bestow 
alms  to  tlie  needy  and  succor  to  the  distressed. 

Aye,  even  in  the  most  heartless-seeming  circles  of 
Fashion  there  are  saints  in  satin  and  angels  in  robes 
of  the  latest  mode^  that  hide  noble  qualities  no  less  than 
beauty  of  form,  and  yet  suppress  those  qualitie  snot 
at  all. 


CHAPTER   III. 
WALL     STREET. 

Wall  Street  is  tlie  banking-liouse  of  the  continent. 

It  is  insignificant  looking  enough,  with  its  crooked- 
ness and  dinginess — its  half-dozen  blocks  of  grim, 
gloomy  buildings.  Yet  its  power  is  felt  from  Bangor 
to  San  Francisco,  from  Oregon  to  Florida;  even 
across  the  sea,  and  round  the  sphere.  Like  the  Hin- 
doo deity,  we  see  that  it  is  homely,  but  we  know  that 
it  is  great. 

We  cannot  afford  to  despise  Wall  street,  strong  as 
our  will  may  be ;  for  it  holds  the  lever  that  moves  the 
American  world.  We  may  despise  its  Mammon-wor- 
ship ;  we  may  censure  its  corruption ;  we  may  decry 
its  morals.  But,  unless  fortune  has  filled  our  purse 
with  ducats — and  often  not  then — we  are  unable  to 
escape  its  influence,  or  exorcise  its  spell.  It  is  a  great, 
established,  far-reaching  fact ;  and  in  its  keeping  are 
the  curses  and  blessings  that  make  up  the  weal  and 
woe  of  life. 

Upon  that  financial  quarter  rest  the  pillars  of  the 
money  market,  that  mysterious  something  which  no 
one  sees  and  every  one  feels — strong  as  Alcides,  and 
yet  sensitive  as  the  Mimosa. 

All  the  cities,  and  towns,  and  villages  of  the  country 
pay  tribute  to  Wall  street.     All  offer  incense  at  its 


Wall  Street.  41 

exacting  shrine.  All  seek  to  propitiate  it,  that  it  may 
make  a  golden  return.  It  is  keen-eyed,  broad-breasted, 
strong-armed,  with  a  mighty  brain  and  no  heart — a 
Briareus  without  sympathy — a  Samson  without  senti- 
ment. 

A  stately  church  at  one  end,  and  a  deep,  broad 
stream  at  the  other,  are  not  without  significance  ;  for 
Wall  street  prays  and  looks  devout  on  Sunday,  and 
every  other  day  of  the  week  yields  to  its  secular  na- 
ture as  the  river  to  the  ocean-tides. 

All  day  and  all  night  the  stately  spire  of  Trinity 
looks  down  upon  the  feverish,  anxious  street.  All 
day  and  all  night  the  East  river  floats  softly  to  the 
sea.  Humanity  chafes,  and  frets,  and  suffers ;  but 
the  shadows  come  and  go  upon  the  lofty  pile,  and 
fall  upon  the  deep-green  waters,  and  leave  them  all 
unchanged. 

How  many  a  worn  and  haggard  face  has  looked  up 
from  the  troubled  thoroughfare  for  hope,  yet  found  it 
not,  in  the  direction  of  the  heaven-pointing  steeple, 
and  thought  of  rest,  but  sought  it  not,  in  the  bosom  of 
the  river ! 

Look  at  Wall  street  now,  while  the  stars  are  shining 
down  into  its  silence.  You  would  not  suppose  it  was 
turbulent  and  tremulous  a  few  hours  ago.  It  is  still 
and  placid  as  the  battle-field  after  the  battle.  The 
strong  houses  are  barred  and  bolted,  and  slumbering 
deeply  for  the  struggle  of  the  morrow.  The  great 
banks,  whose  names  are  known  over  all  the  land,  and 
whose  credit  is  firmer  than  their  vaults,  look  like  tombs 
at  this  hour.  Their  buried  wealth  no  one  guesses.  It 
is  supposed  to  be  enormous ;  and  yet  it  may  have  been 
long  exhausted.     The  banks  maybe  merely  bubbles ; 


42  The  Great  Metropolis. 

but  they  will  float  high  and  airily  until  panic  pricks 
them,  and  they  burst,  spreading  new  panic  in  their 
breaking. 

Oh,  the  mystery  and  uncertainty  of  Credit !  Hard 
to  create,  the  smallest  circumstance  destroys  it,  A  mo- 
ment of  distrust  shatters  the  work  of  years.  An  un- 
founded rumor  unsettles  what  half  a  century  was  need- 
ed to  establish.  Breathe  against  it,  and  what  seemed 
a  monument  of  marble  melts  like  a  snow-wreath  before 
the  southern  wind. 

When  the  stars  pale  in  the  light  of  the  morning, 
and  the  sun  shimmers  over  the  church  and  the  river, 
Wall  street  still  lies  like  a  stolid  sleeper — stirs  not,  nor 
appears  to  breathe. 

Trinity's  solemn  clock  tells  the  hours  slowly  and 
measuredly, — tells  them  remorsely,  think  they  who 
have  engagements  to  meet,  and,  lacking  collaterals,  are 
driven  to  financial  desperation. 

Nine  strikes  from  the  brown  tower,  and  all  along 
the  streets  the  heavy  doors  open  almost  at  once,  and 
brawny  porters  look  lazily  out  into  the  still,  quiet 
quarter. 

The  capitalists,  and  stock  operators,  and  gold  spec- 
ulators have  not  yet  come  down  town.  They  are 
probably  lounging  over  their  luxurious  breakfasts 
somewhere  above  Fourteenth  street,  though  cashiers, 
and  tellers,  and  book-keepers  are  at  their  desks,  pre- 
pared for  the  business  of  the  day. 

The  steps  on  the  narrow  sidewalks  begin  to  thicken. 
Carriages  set  down  handsomely-dressed  men,  young 
and  old,  opposite  the  sign-crowded  structures. 

The  bulls  and  bears,  fresh-looking  and  comely,  with 
dainty -fitting  gloves,  artistic  garments,  and  flowers  in 


Wall  Street.  43 

their  button-holes,  wheel  into  the  street  and  hurriedly 
exchange  greetings  as  they  pass.  The  expression  of 
their  faces  is  changing.  The  regular  fever  of  the  time 
and  place  is  rising.  They  are  entering  upon  the  finan- 
cial arena,  prepared  to  give  and  take  every  advantage 
that  the  Board  of  Brokers  allows. 

The  tide  of  Wall  street  swells  faster  than  the  tide 
of  the  adjacent  sea.  The  hum  of  voices  grows  into  a 
war.  Men  hurry  to  and  fro,  and  jostle,  and  drive,  and 
rush  in  all  directions,  with  eyes  glittering  and  nerves 
a-strain,  as  if  their  soul  were  in  pawn,  and  they  had 
but  forty  seconds  to  redeem  it.  Doors  slam  and  bang. 
Messengers,  with  piles  of  bank-notes  and  bags  of  coin, 
hasten  up  and  down  and  across  the  thronged  thorough- 
fares. 

Short,  quick,  fragmentary  phrases  slip  sharply  out 
of  compressed  lips.  You  hear  "Erie,  Central,  Gold, 
Forty,  Three-quarters,  Sell,  Buy,  Take  it.  Thirty  days. 
Less  dividend.  All  right.  Done";  and  these  cabalistic 
words  make  a  difference  of  tens  of  thousands  of  dollars 
to  those  who  utter  them. 

Business  is  transacted  largely  and  speedily,  as 
though  each  day  were  the  day  before  the  final  judg- 
ment and  "  margins"  must  be  paid  and  "  settlements" 
made  before  the  next  World  opened  a  new  stock  ex- 
change for  the  bulls  that  were  blessed,  or  expelled 
from  the  Board  the  bears  that  had  failed  of  salvation. 

Every  operator  endeavors  to  outstrip  his  fellow. 
Device  and  deception,  rumor  and  innuendo,  ingenious 
invention  and  base  fabrication,  are  resorted  to.  The 
greatest  gambling  in  the  Republic  is  going  on,  and  the 
deepest  dishonesty  is  concealed  by  the  garb  of  com- 
mercial honor.     No  one  asks  nor  expects  favors.     All 


44  The  Great  Metropolis. 

stratagems  are  deemed  fair  in  Wall  street.  The  only 
crime  there  is  to  be  "short"  or  "crippled."  "Here  are 
my  stakes,"  says  Bull  to  Bear.  "Shake  the  dice-box 
of  your  judgment,  and  throw  for  what  you  like.  My 
luck  against  yours;  my  power  to  misrepresent,  and 
hide  truth  with  cunning  for  the  next  thirty  days." 

"Dare  you  agree  to  deliver  Beading,  ten  or  a  hun- 
dred thousand,  on  the  first,  at  a  hundred  and  three  ?  " 
challenges  Jerome,  or  Yanderbilt,  or  Drew. 

"Have  you  the  nerve  to  hold  Hudson  Biver  next 
week  at  a  hundred  and  twenty -five  ?  Agree  to  deliver 
all  you  want." 

A  nod,  and  a  note  as  a  memorandum,  and  the  trade 
is  made. 

The  elegantly-dressed  gamblers  play  largely,  and 
hundreds  of  thousands  are  staked  upon  chances  that 
shift  like  the  wind.  They  live  upon  the  excitement, 
as  worn-out  debauchees  upon  the  stimulants  that  have 
grown  necessary.  Wall  street  is  food  and  drink  to 
them.  They  cannot  spend  their  princely  incomes; 
but  neither  can  they  perish  of  the  ennui  of  honesty, 
of  the  inanity  of  repose.  They  can  operate  to  what 
extent  they  choose.  Wall  street  neither  buys  nor 
sells,  as  we  should  suppose.  It  merely  pays  "differ- 
ences" when  the  day  for  delivery  arrives.  Two,  ten, 
twenty  thousand  dollars  make  good  the  "differences," 
and  the  shares  or  gold  are  left  untouched.  "Corners" 
are  the  ambition  and  the  dread  of  all.  Originally  de- 
signed for  the  uninitiated,  the  shrewder  are  often 
manoeuvred  into  them ;  and  now  and  then  the  heav- 
iest operators  are  obliged  to  disgorge  a  million  of 
their  profits. 

A  '^corner"  is  thus  managed.     A  heavy  capitalist  or 


Wall  Street.  45 

a  number  of  capitalists  conclude  to  operate  for  a  rise 
in  Erie  or  Pacific  Mail.  They  go  into  the  street,  and 
wish  to  buy  a  large  amount  of  the  stock  which  may 
be  then  quoted,  say  at  85  cents  on  the  dollar.  They 
find  persons  who  agree  to  deliver  it  in  thirty  days  at 
86.  Then  the  capitalists  begin  to  purchase  through 
brokers  at  the  ruling  price,  and  soon  get  all  there  is 
in  the  market,  though  so  secretly  that  no  one  suspects 
they  are  the  buyers.  When  the  thirty  days  have  ex- 
pired the  stock  they  have  purchased  is  to  be  delivered. 
The  parties  who  have  agreed  to  deliver  it  say  they 
will  pay  the  curent  rate  ;  but  the  capitalists  declare 
they  must  have  the  stock,  and  that  they  won't  be  satis- 
fied with  anything  else.  Then  the  parties  try  to  buy 
it,  and  the  demand  sends  up  the  stock  rapidly.  They 
send  brokers  throughout  the  banking  quarter,  and  the 
scarcity  with  the  pressing  demand  causes  the  shares  to 
advance  10  or  15,  often  20  and  30  per  cent,  in  a 
single  day.  When  it  is  at  such  a  figure  as  the  capi- 
talists wish,  they  put  their  stock  in  the  market,  and  sell 
it  at  the  great  advance  from  the  old  rate;  thus 
realizing  15  to  20  per  cent,  on  $5,000,000  or 
$6,000,000,  perhaps  $10,000,000,  which  will  be  be- 
tween $1,000,000  and  $2,000,000  profit  by  a  single 
transaction. 

The  shrewdest  of  operators,  like  Daniel  Drew  and 
Leonard  W.  Jerome  are  reputed  to  have  been  made 
the  victims  of  '^corners,"  and  to  have  lost  fortunes  in 
a  day.  But  such  as  they  are  not  often  caught;  the 
"corners"  being  formed  for  the  less  crafty  and  experi- 
enced. Often  the  capitalists  consent  to  receive  the 
difference  between  the  price  the  stock  was  to  be  de- 
livered for  and  its  advance,  and  then  sell  the  stock  at 


46  The  Great  Metropolis. 

the  advance   to  persons  who  believe  it  will  go  still 
higher ;  thus  making  an  enormous  double  profit. 

Another  favorite  operation  in  Wall  street  is  for  the 
bears  (the  bears  are  those  who  want  to  pull  down 
prices,  and  the  bulls  those  who  wish  to  push  them  up,)  • 
to  withdraw  a  large  amount  of  legal-tenders  from  cir- 
culation by  borrowing  money  from  the  banks  on  cer- 
tain securities,  either  railway  shares  or  government 
bonds.  The  legal-tenders  are  not  wanted,  of  course, 
but  the  bears  lock  them  up,  and  the  money  market 
growing  tight,  the  banks  call  in  their  loans.  Persons 
who  have  borrowed  on  the  securities  are  obliged  to 
sell  them  to  pay  what  they  have  borrowed,  and  forcing 
the  sale  of  the  securities,  causes  them  to  decline. 
That  is  what  the  bears  seek ;  for  they  have  agreed  to 
deliver  certain  securities  at  a  certain  price  and  time. 
Say  they  have  agreed  to  deliver  New- York  Central 
Railway  at  105.  The  scarcity  of  money  and  the 
panic  created  thereby  send  Central  down  to  90.  The 
bear  who  is  to  deliver  $1,000,000  of  the  shares,  thus 
makes  $150,000  clear  by  his  unscrupulous  manage- 
ment. Every  few  weeks  this  locking  up  of  bonds  is 
resorted  to  by  a  few  rich  men  who  cause  immense  loss 
to  others  for  the  sake  of  increasing  their  own  gains. 

Nothing  could  be  more  dishonest  than  this  operation 
or  getting  up  a  "corner."  It  is  as  disreputable  as 
picking  a  man's  pocket ;  yet  Wall  street  not  only  al- 
lows, but  admires  and  applauds  it. 

People  who  buy  stocks  or  gold  in  the  banking 
quarter  usually  put  up  ^'margins,"  that  is  one-tenth  of 
the  amount  of  stock  bought.  If  a  man  wishes  to  pur- 
chase $10,000  worth  of  Hudson  River  or  Harlem  Rail- 
way shares  he  leaves  $1,000  with  his  broker,  who  holds 


Wall  Street.  '  47 

the  stock,  and  charges  his  customer  7  per  cent,  per  an- 
num in  ordinary  times  for  the  use  of  the  money.  If 
the  shares  fall  5  per  cent,  the  broker  notifies  the 
buyer  to  make  his  margin  good.  If  he  don't  do  so, 
the  broker  sells  the  stock,  takes  out  his  interest  and 
commissions,  and  returns  the  balance  to  the  purchaser. 

If  the  shares  go  up  the  buyer  makes  $100  every 
time  they  advance  1  per  cent.  The  reason  so  many 
men  lose  money  is,  that  they  put  up  all  the  money 
they  have  as  margins ;  and  if  the  stock  they  purchase 
declines,  though  confident  it  will  advance  again,  they 
have  no  more  means,  and  their  broker  sells  them  out. 
Every  day  the  margin  men  are  obliged  to  let  their 
stocks  go  when,  if  they  could  hold,  on  they  would  be 
certain  to  make  something.  But  they  are  little  fish, 
and  in  Wall  street  the  big  fish  swallow  the  small  ones 
all  the  year  round. 

The  Stock  Exchange  and  Gold  Room  are  the  scenes 
of  such  tumult  and  confusion  that  only  members  can 
comprehend  the  mysterious  transactions.  Excited, 
anxious  faces,  nervous  fingers  writing  hurriedly  with 
pencils  in  little  books,  clamor  of  voices,  lifting  of 
hands,  becks  and  nods,  are  all  the  spectator  sees  and 
hears.  He  cannot  even  learn  the  rate  of  shares  or 
coin  amid  the  flurry  and  the  noise.  It  appears  to  him 
like  the  struggle  of  overgrown  children  for  tempting 
fruit  that  one  alone  can  have.  He  is  amazed  and 
dazed,  and  cannot  guess  who  has  been  bold,  and  who 
has  held  aloof  from  the  avaricious  scramble. 

Three  times  every  day  stocks  are  called  at  the  Ex- 
change, and  the  members  measure  their  brain  and 
nerve,  their  ..capital  and  credit,  one  against  the  other. 
Shares  are  put   up    and   put   down,    irrespective   of 


48  The  Great  Metropolis. 

values.  Bulls  and  bears  toss  tlie  prices  as  they  would 
shuttlecocks  upon  the  battledoors  of  their  interest  or 
caprice ;  and  it  is  not  uncommon  for  a  non-paying 
railway  to  be  fifty  or  a  hundred  above  par,  when  a 
highly  remunerative  road  is  in  the  eighties  or  nine- 
ties. 

Stocks  are  what  the  brokers  make  them,  and  their 
varying  rate  is  determined  by  a  '^ring." 

Wall  street  grows  every  day  richer  and  more  com- 
manding, though  fortunes  are  made  and  lost  there 
every  year  that  would  buy  the  broadest  dukedoms  of 
Europe.  Capital  from  abroad  is  constantly  flowing  to 
that  great  monetary  centre ;  while  private  means  are 
swelling  to  a  degree  that  is  not  wholesome,  financially. 
Operators  can  draw  their  checks  for  millions,  and  can 
"carry"  such  an  amount  of  stocks  as  astounds  the 
•weaker  ones  of  the  street.  The  rich  wax  richer  and 
richer,  albeit,  ever  and  anon,  a  monetary  Nemesis 
pursues  them  to  ruin,  and  brands  ^'bankrupt"  upon 
the  brow  that  has  braved  the  severest  financial  fates. 

What  a  long  and  painfully  interesting  history  might 
be  given  of  the  fluctuations  of  fortune  that  have 
marked  the  strange  history  of  the  street!  What  gi- 
gantic operators  'have  ruled  the  quarter  for  years,  and 
gone  down  at  last, — gone  down  to  poverty,  to  mad- 
ness, to  shattered  health  and  self-inflicted  death! 

Pale  ghosts,  if  Plato's  theory  be  true,  must  stalk  by 
night  in  the  silent  places  of  the  banking  bureaus,  and 
long,  with  a  longing  that  is  their  torment,  for  the  pur- 
suits they  followed  on  this  whirling  planet. 

Over  non-success  the  pall  of  oblivion  is  thrown ;  for 
Wall  street  is  too  busy  to  hate,  and  too  anxious  to 
despise. 


STOCK     EXC  H  ANG  E,— BROAD   street. 


Wall  Street.  49 

Whatever  6f  energy  and  enterprise,  financial  daring 
and  reckless  speculation,  lust  of  commercial  power 
and  mania  for  money -getting  there  is  in  the  land, 
seems  compressed  into  Wall  street  for  half-a-dozen 
hours  of  the  twenty-four.  Out  of  it  all  grow  advan- 
tages beyond  the  thought  of  those  who  lay  wagers 
against  circumstance.  Wall  street  capital  develops 
the  country  bounteously.  The  north,  the  south,  the 
east  and  west  go  there  for  aid  to  hew,  and  build,  and 
mine.  If  the  bloated  toad  look  ugly,  its  invisible 
jewel  is  precious.  If  Wall  street  have  faults, — and 
they  are  many  and  grievous, — it  has  virtues  not  a  few, 
and,  outside  of  business,  permits  its  heart  to  beat,  and 
its  hands  to  give,  and  its  sympathy  to  heal. 

Its  great  power  is  not  always  used  unworthily ;  and 
the  spire  looking  down  upon  it,  and  the  river  flowing 
by  it,  all  day  and  all  night,  must  have  recollections  of 
its  goodness  that  would  show  the  preciousness  and 
poetry  which  are  hidden  in  the  hard  environment  of 
money. 

4 


CHAPTER  lY. 
THE    POLICE. 

New  York  is  growing  more  and  more  like  Paris  in 
respect  to  the  police.  It  is  literally  governed  by 
them.  They  have  almost  everything  in  their  own 
hands,  and  are  prone  to  make  the  law  a  terror  to  all 
but  evil  doers.  That  they  have  entirely  too  much 
power  is  beyond  question ;  and  that  they  abuse  it  is  a 
matter  of  hourly  observation.  But,  like  the  World, 
they  are  improving ;  are  much  better  now  than  they 
have  ever  been,  and  are  likely  to  continue  to  develop 
upward. 

It  is  common  and  easy  to  censure  the  police,  who 
are  neither  estimable  nor  lovable,  as  a  class ;  but,  on 
the  whole,  they  are  about  as  good,  or  as  little  ill,  rath- 
er, as  can  be  expected  considering  their  calling,  char- 
acter, and  circumstances.  We  have  no  right  to  look 
for  saintliness  in  blue  uniforms  and  pewter  badges, 
particularly  when  their  wearers  receive  but  $25  to 
$30  a  week,  and  are  necessarily  demoralized  by  the 
very  air  they  breathe. 

The  reputation  of  the  tribe  is  bad ;  and  men  are 
rarely  better  than  their  reputation.  They  are  com- 
pelled to  associate  with  vulgarians  and  scoundrels  of 
all  grades ;  are  exposed  to  every  species  of  tempta- 
tion ;    act  unfavorably  on  each  other,   and  have  no 


The  Police.  51 

restraining  influences  beyond  their  own  intelligence, 
which  is  not  very  great,  and  their  fear  of  exposure, 
which  is  not  probable. 

Like  every  other  body,  they  have  bad  as  well  as 
good  men;  and  I  am  inclined  to  believe  the  former 
are  very  much  in  the  majority.  Why  should  they  not 
be  ?  Who  wouldn't  deteriorate  as  a  policeman  ?  Six 
months  on  the  force  is  enough  to  make  Bayard  a 
bully  and  Howard  a  blackguard.  Therefore,  all  who 
resist  the  strong  tendency  of  their  vocation  are  de- 
serving of  extreme  credit. 

Some  of  the  greatest  rogues  in  town  can  be  found 
among  the  so-called  guardians  of  the  public  peace, 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  a  number  of  men  who,  in 
spite  of  temptation,  association,  and  misrepresentation, 
have  quick  sympathies,  generous  impulses,  and  kindly 
hearts.  The  character  of  a  metropolitan  policeman 
can  generally  be  determined  from  his  physiognomy. 
Peter  Smith  you  would  trust  instinctively ;  for  his  mild 
eye,  broad  forehead,  and  clear-cut  chin  will  not  lie. 
Dennis  O'Grady  you  would  avoid  after  dark ;  for  you 
read  treachery,  brutality,  cruelty,  in  the  flat  nose,  the 
restless  glance,  the  heavy  jaw,  the  bull-like  neck. 

The  police  of  New  York  number  about  2,100,  inde- 
pendent of  the  detectives,  and  are  for  the  most  part 
very  comely  physical  specimens  of  the  race.  The 
force  of  the  entire  Metropolitan  District,  which  in- 
cludes the  City,  Brooklyn,  Richmond,  King's,  part  of 
Queen's  and  Westchester  counties,  has  2,566  men  At 
their  head  is  Superintendent  Kennedy  who  has  under 
him  four  inspectors,  eighteen  surgeons,  forty-five  cap- 
tains, ninety-three  doormen,  ninety-one  roundsmen, 
one  hundred  and  seventy-seven  sergeants,  and  twenty- 


52  The  Great  Metropolis. 

one  hundred  and  tliirtj-seven  patrolmen.  They  are 
tall,  erect,  well-formed,  able-bodied,  chosen  more  for 
their  muscle  than  their  morals,  for  their  pluck  than 
their  purity.  They  are  regularly  drilled,  especial 
pains  being  taken  with  the  Broadway  squad,  and  form 
a  very  effective  force  for  good  or  evil.  They  are 
capable  of  doing  excellent  service,  as  has  been  shown 
on  numerous  occasions,  and  with  weapons  in  their 
hands,  which  they  know  how  to  use,  make  quite  a  lit- 
tle army  of  defense.  During  the  August  riots  of 
1863,  they  proved  themselves  men  of  determination 
and  courage ;  fought  the  furious  mob  like  veteran 
soldiers,  and  gave  their  lives  to  the  preservation  of 
public  order  and  the  restoration  of  the  law  of  the 
land. 

The  Broadway  squad,  composed  of  about  one  hun- 
dred picked  policemen,  are  noticeably  good-looking. 
They  are  very  neatly  attired,  and,  though  they  have 
light  duty,  are  very  serviceable  in  assisting  women 
and  children  across  the  crowded  thoroughfares,  direct- 
ing strangers  to  different  parts  of  the  city,  arresting 
pickpockets,  and  preventing  street  fights.  They  are 
the  real  autocrats  of  the  highway,  and  the  position  is 
sought  by  all  the  members  of  the  force ;  only  the 
most  intelligent  and  best-behaved  being  eligible  to  the 
place. 

They  have  charge  of  street-incumbrances,  and  sign 
nuisances,  and  can  regulate  all  such  things  as  they 
choose.  As  Broadway  is  always  blocked  up  and  al- 
most impassable  from  the  causes  named,  it  is  fair  to 
suppose  the  policemen  are  paid  for  their  purblindness. 
Indeed,  it  is  generally  understood  that  bank-notes  of 
any  sort  have  a  singular  effect  upon  policemen's  eyes. 


The  Police.  53 

They  can't  see  beyond  a  ten  or  twenty-dollar  note  in 
the  broadest  light  of  day;  and,  after^dusk,  a  bill  of 
much  smaller  denomination  not  only  obscures  their  vis- 
ion, but  affects  their  memory.  They  receive^  doubtless, 
very  liberal  douceurs  in  that  great  avenue,  and  their 
perquisites  must  be  far  beyond  their  salaries. 

The  best  class  are  usually  Americans,  men  who 
originally  entered  the  force  because  they  could  got 
nothing  better  to  do,  and  who  from  long  service  have 
become  attached  to  it  from  its  alternately  indolent  and 
exciting  character.  They  may  not  preserve  their  gar- 
ments unstained,  nor  their  hands  unsoiled, — that  is 
above  policial  power,  perhaps — but  their  sins,  if  venal, 
are  venial  also.  They  do  not  lose  their  instincts  of  hu- 
manity nor  their  sympathy  with  suffering.  They  keep 
many  an  "honest  fellow  from  the  hands  of  sharpers, 
many  a  virtuous  country  girl  from  the  wiles  of  pro- 
curesses and  the  arts  of  debauchees. 

They  have  abundant  opportunities  to  do  good,  and 
when  temptation  the  other  wkj  is  not  too  strong,  or 
nature  too  weak,  they  obey  their  better  selves.  Not 
unfrequently  they  prove  themselves  heroes  in  guard- 
ing honesty  and  innocence,  and  have  yielded  their  lives 
to  protect  the  defenseless  and  succor  the  distressed. 
They  have  time  and  again  saved  children  and  women 
from  the  flames  at  imminent  peril  to  themselves ;  have 
snatched  men  from  death  and  their  sisters  from  worse 
than  death,  and  been  entitled  by  their  deeds  to  the 
highest  fame.  Rarely  has  the  chronicle  been  made  ; 
and,  when  it  has,  it  has  been  forgotten  a  moment 
after. 

The  worst  class,  which  is  two,  perhaps  three,  to  one 
of  the  other,  are  generally  foreigners,  ignorant,  brutal 


54  The  Great  Metropolis. 

fellows,  whom  any  elevation  renders  tyrants  and  bullies. 
They  first  obtained  their  place  by  partisan  favor,  though 
the  present  police  are  appointed  by  the  Commissioners 
regardless  of  politics.  They  are  in  full  sympathy  and 
communion  with  all  the  rogues  within  sound  of  the  City 
hall  bell,  and  follow  their  calling  purely  to  make  money. 
They  are  fond  of  arresting  innocent  ruralists,  charging 
them  with  some  heinous  offence,  and  frightening  them 
out  of  their  wits  and  pocket  books  at  the  same  time. 

They  are  approachable  by  bribes,  and  prone  to 
serve  those  who  pay  the  most.  They  release  pick- 
pockets and  burglars  who  divide;  persecute  unfortu- 
nate Cyprians  who  refuse  gratuitous  favors ;  steal  from 
drunken  men;  swear  to  anything;  levy  black-mail, 
and  are  guilty  of  any  mean  act  their  low  minds  can 
conceive  of  They  are  usually  on  the  scent  of  any 
misbehavior  with  which  reputable  persons  are  con- 
nected, using  their  knowledge  to  extort  money  by 
threat  of  exposure. 

Glaring  as  their  misconduct  is,  they  are  cunning 
knaves,  and  contrive  to  keep  in  office  when  decent 
men  are  removed.  I  have  heard  of  scoundrels  who 
are  veterans  in  the  force,  and  who  won't  quit  it  while 
there  is  a  dirty  thing  to  do,  or  a  dollar  to  steal.  They 
are  strangely  long-lived,  too,  on  the  hypothesis  that 
Satan  stands  by  sinners,  and  rarely  have  their  brains 
blown  out,  or  their  throats  cut,  as  they  deserve,  by 
the  desperate  characters  with  whom  they  come  in  con- 
tact. Such  mishaps  befall  only  the  better  class,  who 
are  more  ready  to  expose  themselves  to  real  dangers. 

The  police-stations  are  32  in  number,  in  as  many 
precincts,  and  are  generally  as  clean  and  whole- 
some   as   such   places   can   be.      Their    atmosphere, 


The  Police.  55 

however,  is  repulsive  at  best,  and  a  sensitive  nature 
avoids  them  as  it  does  painful  scenes  or  horrid  sights. 
Their  patronage  varies  with  the  season  and  the  occa- 
sion. In  certain  times  of  quiet  not  more  than  200 
arrests  are  made  in  the  entire  24  hours;  while  at  oth- 
ers the  arrests  will  reach  600  or  800,  or  even  1,000. 
During  the  severe  weather,  lodgers,  men  and  women 
who  have  no  place  to  sleep,  are  very  numerous. 
They  huddle  into  the  stations,  ragged,  dirty,  shiver- 
ing, either  bloated  or  emaciated,  and  convey  some 
idea  of  the  poverty  and  wretchedness  of  the  Great 
City. 

Those  who  are  committed  to  the  stations  are  guilty 
of  various  crimes,  among  which  drunkenness,  dis- 
orderly conduct,  and  petit  larceny  are  the  commonest. 
When  a  first-class  burglar,  or  a  real  incendiary,  or  an 
actual  murderer  is  thrust  into  the  lock-up,  his  presence 
creates  a  momentary  sensation.  The  meaner  prison- 
ers want  to  catch  sight  of  the  rare  monster,  and  peer 
at  him  through  the  iron  bars.  The  policemen  hurl 
rude  jests  at  him,  or  curse  him;  while  he  either  curses 
them  in  return,  or  sinks  down  on  the  rude  bench  in 
sullen  indifference  to  his  fate. 

Now  and  then  a  bird  of  higher  game  is  taken, — a 
bank-teller  or  book-keeper  who  has  been  embezzling 
or  forging ;  a  gentleman  of  position  who  has  shot  his 
sister's  seducer  or  his  wife's  lover ;  a  fashionable  rowdy 
who  has  undertaken  to  break  windows  and  watch- 
men's heads,  with  a  charming  indifference  whether  it 
is  one  or  the  other;  a  well-dressed  man  about  whom 
strict  orders  are  given,  but  whose  offense  is  not  stated. 
Such  persons  are  usually  treated  with  courtesy  and 
distinction,  for  they  have  means  and  can  pay  for  civil- 


56  The  Great  Metropolis. 

ity,  and  have  a  faculty  of  getting  out  that  is  impossi- 
ble to  vulgar  sinners  and  law-breakers. 

It  is  a  sad  and  revolting  sight  to  see  the  station 
houses  emptying  themselves  in  the  morning.  The 
prisoners  are  a  few  of  the  unwholesome  and  painful 
things  the  night  hides,  and  the  day  keeps  beyond 
vision.  Bleared  and  blackened  eyes,  bloody  faces, 
festering  rags,  horrid  countenances,  demonized  brutes, 
hideous  hags,  guarded  by  policemen,  and  going  to 
court,  soon  to  be  sent  'O  the  Tombs  or  Blackwell's  is- 
land for  the  fifth,  or  tenth,  or  twentieth  time. 

How  mechanically  the  policemen  swear  (half  of 
them  have  no  idea  of  the  solemnity  of  an  oath,  so 
accustomed  are  they  to  that  form  of  statement), 
and  how  indifferent  they  are  to  the  scenes  and 
characters  before  them!  They  are  insensible,  stolid, 
brutal,  very  many  of  the  class,  and  laugh  where  others 
would  weep.  They  consider  crime  and  its  punishment 
something  of  course,  part  of  their  business,  and  to  be 
encouraged,  inasmuch  as  their  livelihood  depends  up- 
on it. 

Unfortunate  the  sensitive  being  who  from  some 
stress  of  circumstance  falls  into  their  hands.  They 
will  lacerate  with  looks,  and  stab  with  jeers,  and  never 
dream  of  giving  pain.  They  have  walked  so  much 
among  thorn  bushes  and  strong  hedges  they  do  not 
suspect  the  existence  of  the  violets  or  daisies  they  are 
crushing  under  their  feet. 

The  gross  injustices  of  a  police  court,  every  week  of 
the  year,  would  fill  a  small  volume  if  enumerated  in 
detail;  but  they  are  usually  practised  upon  paupers 
and  outcasts,  and  no  one  cares  for  them.  That  thev 
are  unfortunate  and  friendless,  is  proof  of  their  guilt. 


The  Police.  57 

and  their  liberty  is  sworn  away  and  their  sentences 
fixed,  without  reflection  or  conscience.  It  is  the 
policeman's  duty  to  swear  and  the  judge's  to  punish, 
and  the  sooner  the  duty  is  discharged  the  better,  at 
least  for  themselves. 

The  detectives  are  a  peculiar  and  distinct  part  of 
the  police  force.  '  There  are  no  less  than  14  or  15 
organizations  (including  about  400  men,  with  a  few 
women)  in  the  Metropolis,  and  its  members  are  the 
shrewdest  and  most  dishonest  of  the  entire  body. 
The  organizations  are  divided  into  the  central  de- 
tective police,  detectives  of  the  separate  wards  or 
precincts,  car- detectives,  insurance  and  bankers'  de- 
tectives police,  national  police  agency.  North- Amer- 
ican detective  agency,  merchants'  detective  police, 
bureau  of  information,  Matsell's  police-detectives,  ho- 
tel-detectives, divorce-detectives,  United-States  detect- 
ives, internal  revenue  detectives. 

Their  regular  pay  varies  from  three  to  eight  dollars 
a  day  for  "piping,"  "shadowing,"  " working-up," 
etc.;  but  they  have  such  latitude  in  '^contingent  ex- 
penses," "special  arrangements,"  and  "individual  en- 
terprises" that  no  limit  can  be  fixed  to  their  profits. 
The  chief  detectives  have  a  salary  of  $2,500  a  year, 
but  they  make  five  or  ten  times  that  sum  often, 
and  frequently  acquire  a  large  property.  Bank 
officers  and  persons  having  responsible  positions  in 
stores  are  watched,  the  moment  the  least  suspicion  is 
excited  by  their  conduct;  and,  if  they  are  using 
money  not  their  own,  they  are  always  found  out  and 
reported,  unless  they  happen  to  pay  the  detective 
better  than  his-  employer  does. 

There  is  a  good  deal  of  excitement  and  no  little 


58  The  Great  Metropolis. 

romance  in  the  profession  of  the  detective.  He  must 
be  very  shrewd,  understand  human  nature,  be  prolific 
of  resources  and  inventions,  cool,  self-reliant,  coura- 
geous, and  resolute.  He  goes  everywhere ;  adopts  all 
disguises;  plays  many  parts;  combines,  analyzes,  ma- 
nipulates, manages,  and  does  work  often  that  is  a 
credit  to  his  brain  and  a  discredit  to  his  principle. 

Dickens,  it  is  said,  is  very  fond  of  consulting  the 
detectives,  who  have  helped  him  to  many  of  his  plots, 
at  least  in  parts;  and  other  novel-writers  would  do 
well  to  imitate  the  great  master  of  fiction.  The 
detective  sees  life  and  nature  in  its  most  peculiar  and 
often  interesting  phases,  and  he  has  the  capacity  to 
unravel  out  of  the  tangled  skein  of  his  experiences 
threads  of  narratives  as  startling  as  truthful. ,  Half 
they  say  would  not  be  believed  (they  are  fond  of  tell- 
ing sensational  stories);  but,  if  they  merely  related 
the  facts  that  come  under  their  daily  observation,  the 
public  would  be  incredulous. 

They  behold  strange  things  unquestionably;  see 
demons  as  angels,  and  angels  as  devils,  and  naturally 
learn  to  believe  that  what  we  call  good  and  evil  is 
merely  a  refraction  of  moral  light  passing  through 
different  mediums. 


CHAPTER    V. 
THE    SHIPPING. 

The  bay  of  New-York  is  not  surpassed  by  any  in  the 
world  for  excellence  and  beauty.  The  bay  of  Naples 
is  far  more  famous,  because  there  have  been  more 
poets  to  sing  its  praises ;  but  ours  is  quite  equal,  if  not 
superior  to  the  emerald  crescent  which  has  been  set  at 
the  hpad  of  the  jewels  of  the  sea. 

To  appreciate  fully  the  bay  of  New-York,  one  should 
go  abroad,  and  remain  a  year  or  more.  After  wan- 
dering over  Europe  and  Asia,  he  will  return  with  the 
love  of  home  and  freedom  strengthened  in  his  bosom ; 
and,  sailing  back  to  the  great  centre  of  the  western 
world,  he  will  catch  sight  of  the  spires  looming  up, 
like  those  of  Venice,  from  the  watery  distance,  and 
take  in  the  picturesqueness  of  the  bay,  and  all  its 
varied  charms,  as  he  never  did  before. 

There  is  a  satisfaction,  a  sense  of  largeness  and 
liberty,  in  a  sea-port  that  no  interior  city  can  impart. 
By  the  side  of  the  ocean  one  feels  in  communication 
with  the  rest  of  the  World ;  on  the  outer  surface  of  the 
Globe ;  at  the  pole  of  civilization.  Inland,  one  seems 
out  of  immediate  relation  with  the  Universe ;  thrust 
aside  from  the  current  of  events ;  washed  up  from  the 
billows  of  busy  being. 

The  chief  advantage  of  New -York  is  its  location. 


60  The  Great  Metropolis. 

A  complete  island,  swept  by  every  breeze,  touched  by 
ships  from  every  clime,  the  great  focus  of  wealth  and 
trade,  to  live  in  it  is  to  become  attached  to  it,  and 
grow  broad  by  liberal  influences  from  within  and 
without. 

One  of  the  lasting  attractions  of  the  Metropolis  is 
its  shipping.  I  have  always  enjoyed  wandering,  or 
lounging,  in  West  or  Water  streets,  or  on  the  Battery, 
watching  the  sailing  of  the  ships,  their  riding  at  anchor, 
their  lying  idle  at  the  busy  piers.  Nearly  two  hund- 
red piers  gird  the  island  ;  and  the  vessels,  receiving 
freight  therefrom,  and  lying  oiF  in  the  rivers  and  bay, 
often  number  from  fifteen  hundred  to  two  thousand. 

From  the  south  point  of  the  Battery  to  the  Harlem 
river,  on  both  sides,  and  all  round  the  island,  in  fact  is 
one  unbroken  forest  of  masts.  From  them,  the  flags 
of  every  nation  under  the  sun  are  flying ;  and  many 
of  the  colors  would  not  be  recognized  save  by  persons 
familiar  with  the  ensigns  of  the  world. 

The  cross  of  Great  Britain,  the  tri-color  of  France, 
the  eagles  of  Austria,  Prussia,  and  Russia,  the  compli- 
cated arms  of  Spain,  the  crowned  lions  of  Holland,  the 
cross  of  Sweden,  Norway,  and  Switzerland,  the  bars  of 
Bremen,  the  crescent  of  Turkey,  the  checkered  field 
of  China,  and  even  the  crossed  swords  of  Japan,  may 
be  seen  floating  in  the  air.  Greece,  Prussia,  and 
Egypt  are  represented  by  the  white  cross,  the  lion- 
centred  star  and  the  stellar  moons. 

All  tongues  mingle  on  the  piers  and  vessels  as  in 
olden  Babel,  but  they  are  not  confused.  Every  for- 
eign ship  has  its  interpreter,  if  he  be  needed,  though 
many  of  the  sailors,  who  have  passed  their  lives  on  the 
sea,  can  speak  enough  of  a  dozen  languages  to  make 


The  Shipping.  61 

themselves  understood.  Every  hour  some  craft  is  com- 
ing in  from,  or  going  out  upon  its  long  voyage.  This 
for  Liverpool,  for  Havre,  for  Marseilles,  for  Naples,  for 
Constantinople,  for  Palermo  ;  that  for  Hong-Kong,  for 
Calcutta,  for  San-Francisco,  for  Yokohama. 

With  their  immense  and  valuable  cargoes,  with  their 
thousands  of  human  souls,  the  ships  trust  themselves 
calmly  to  the  treacherous  deep,  and,  through  countless 
storms  and  dangers,  come  back  undaunted  and  un- 
harmed. Men  who  have,  all  their  lives,  braved  the 
perils  of  the  ocean,  die  at  last  in  their  hammocks  or 
upon  the  land  they  have  so  little  trodden. 

There  is  a  species  of  fascination  in  watching  the  sea 
and  the  ships,  in  tracing  them  as  they  come  slowly 
into  sight ;  rise,  as  it  appears,  gradually  out  of  the 
waves;  or  go  down  on  the  slope  of  the  sphere,  and  fade 
away.  We  all  say  we  believe  the  World  round ;  but 
we  do  not  practically.  We  can  hardly  conceive  that 
those  who  left  us  a  few  months  since  are  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Planet,  laughing  or  weepin-g  directly  under 
our  feet.  Even  when  we  visit  China,  and  reason  and 
science  assure  us  we  have  been  with  our  antipodes,  we 
do  not  realize  it  any  more  than  that  we  have  been  be- 
yond the  grave  in  sleep. 

The  sailors  are  an  interesting  class.  Their  life  is  a 
hard  and  dangerous  one,  but  they  cannot  be  induced 
to  quit  it.  They  are  the  true  cosmopolitans.  Their 
home  is  everywhere  and  nowhere.  They  preserve 
their  freshness  of  feeling,  their  relish  of  pleasure,  their 
love  of  adventure  always.  They  are  children,  and 
never  grow  old.  They  have  sailed  in  all  seas  and 
dwelt  in  all  cities ;  have  pulled  the  pig-tails  of  China- 
men in  Nanking;  smoked  with  the  Turks  outside  the 


62  The  Great  Metropolis. 

mosqnes  of  Smyrna ;  drank  tea  with  tlie  Russians  at 
Cronstadt,  and  whisky  with  the  Irish  at  Cork. 

Unsuspecting,  unselfish,  careless,  they  fall  an  easy 
prey  to  sharpers  and  swindlers.  The  moment  they 
touch  the  shore,  they  are  resolved  upon  a  "lark."  Their 
money  burns  in  their  pockets,  and  when  it  is  spent 
they  are  as  cheerful  as  before,  and  vastly  more  resign- 
ed to  work.  Always  in  trouble  on  shore,  yet  always 
in  superabundant  spirits,  they  know  no  medium  be- 
tween hard  service  and  perfect  self-indulgence.  Half 
the  duty  of  policemen  in  the  Fourth  and  Sixth  wards 
is  to  keep  the  sea-rovers  out  of  mischief,  and  then  they 
rarely  succeed. 

Liquor  and  loose  women  are  all  too  much  for  poor 
Jack,  and,  after  being  robbed  and  beaten,  he  is  carried 
off  to  the  station-house,  cursing  his  eyes,  which  deserve 
condemnation,  since  they  are  of  little  use  to  him  in 
avoiding  open  pits.  Often  the  master  of  the  vessel  is 
compelled  to  redeem  Jack  from  bondage,  and  the  un- 
fortunate sailor  can  hardly  see  the  receding  shore 
through  the  clouds  dissipation  has  spread  before  his 
eyes.  Unlike  the  land-lubber,  he  does  not  promise 
reformation,  and,  unlike  the  same  individual,  he  does 
not  break  his  promise.  He  keeps  sober  on  board  be- 
cause he  can't  get  liquor.  But  he  renews  his  New- 
York  experience  in  the  first  port.  The  same  tricks 
are  played  upon  him;  the  same  mishaps  befall  him, 
and  with  the  same  result.  He  goes  rolling  and  blun- 
dering through  life ;  regarding  the  whole  World  as  a 
quarter-deck,  and  resting  only  when  he  is  sewed  up  in 
his  hammock,  and  cast  to  the  fishes. 

The  emigrant  vessels  are  curious  studies.  How 
strangely  and  puzzled  the  emigrants  look  as  they  come 


The  Shipping.  63 

out  of  the  depot  at  the  Battery !  They  are  entering, 
indeed,  upon  a  new  life,  and  America  must  seem  to 
them  like  another  world.  The  Irish  are  excited  and 
nervous  generally,  an  odd  compound  of  timidity  and 
boldness  ;  but  the  air  of  freedom  and  even  licentious- 
ness they  soon  breathe,  renders  them  defiant  and  ag- 
gressive. 

The  trouble  with  the  natives  of  Erin  is  that  there  is 
no  Purgatory  between  the  Inferno  of  their  own  coun- 
try and  the  Paradise  of  this,  that  would  fit  them  for  en- 
tering upon  a  broader  and  higher  mode  of  existence. 
The  change  is  too  sudden,  and  they  and  those  brought 
in  contact  with  them  suffer  from  it.  They  rarely  un- 
derstand their  own  interest.  They  are  made  the  dupes 
of  others,  and  their  impulsiveness  overrides  their 
reason,  and  keeps  them  at  constant  disadvantage. 

Having  reached  our  hospitable  shores,  they  stick, 
much  against  their  interest,  to  the  large  cities,  prefer- 
ring menial  offices  to  a  prospect  of  independence  in 
the  country.  No  pestilence  would  drive  them  out  of 
New- York.  They  would  rather  stay  here,  starve  and 
die,  than  prosper  in  the  territories.  There  are  nearly 
as  many  of  their  fellow-countrymen  here  as  in  Dublin, 
and  here  they  will  stay,  until  Potter's  field  or  the  City 
Hall  receives  them. 

The  Germans  are  quiet,  self-contained,  half  stolid, 
half  wondering,  when  they  land.  They  are  more  fre- 
quently imposed  upon  than  the  Irish ;  for  the  latter 
find  adherents  and  protectors  in  their  own  countrymen, 
who  have  become  American  citizens,  by  the  blessing 
of  God  and  the  ease  of  the  naturalization  laws.  Usu- 
ally they  make  brief  sojourn  in  the  Metropolis.  They 
are  agriculturally  inclined,  and  wander  off  to  the  West 


64  The  Great  Metropolis. 

to  buy  land  and  till  tlieir  own  soil.  While  their  Mile- 
sian brothers  are  driving  hacks,  and  digging  cellars, 
and  waiting  on  tables,  the  Germans  are  putting  money 
in  their  purses  and  independence  in  their  future. 

The  emigrant  vessels  are  often  torture  chambers  for 
the  poor  creatures  who  take  passage  in  them.  The 
officers  neglect  and  abuse  them  shamefully,  and  one 
tithe  of  the  injustice  and  cruelty  practiced  upon  the 
strangers  will  never  be  known.  Now  and  then 
there  is  an  arrest,  and  a  fine  imposed  upon  a  captain 
or  a  mate,  or  bail  required.  But  there  the  matter  ends, 
and  the  wrong  continues. 

The  ill-treatment  of  emigrants  is  one  of  the  most 
serious  evils  of  this  abounding-in-evil  city ;  and  few 
know  the  horrors  of  a  passage  across  the  Atlantic.  The 
emigrants  are  not  only  depriv-ed  of  proper  food  and 
air,  but  the  men  are  robbed,  the  women  debauched 
and  not  unfrequently  beaten  by  scoundrels  from  whom 
no  penalty  is  ever  exacted. 

The  foreign  steamers  are  well  worth  visiting  on  saiL 
ing  days.  You  can  see  much  of  life  among  the  better 
kinds  of  people  there,  particularly  on  the  French  and 
English  vessels.  Friends  always  flock  to  the  steamers 
to  see  those  departing.  Excitement  is  a  common 
ingredient  in  the  adieux,  and  sorrow,  by  no  means  in- 
sincere,  a  concomitant  of  such  leave-takings. 

Step  on  board  one  of  the  Cunarders  with  me.  Some 
prominent  personage  must  be  going  abroad,  for  forty 
or  fifty  well-dressed  women  and  a  score  of  men  are 
crowded  around  a  mild,  self-satisfied-looking  individual 
who  smiles  patronizingly,  and  wears  a  white  cravat. 
The  women  simper,  and  press  close  to  him,  and  give 
him  thousands  of  good  wishes,  and  beg  him  to  take 


The  Shipping.  65 

excellent  care  of  his  health,  and  assure  him  they  will 
pray  for  him  while  he  is  gone. 

From  the  conversation,  we  learn  that  he  is  the  Rev. 
Clarence  Edmund  Fitzdoodle.  He  has  been  worn 
down  by  labors  of  two  hours  a  day,  with  a  three- 
months'  vacation  each  Summer,  and  has  been  prevailed 
upon  to  go  abroad  to  heal  his  shattered  constitution, 
and  save  his  precious  life.  No  one  would  suspect  his 
ill-health.  He  looks  round  and  rosy,  and  his  rhetoric 
on  Sunday  is  too  weak  to  require  any  serious  effort. 
He  has  an  admirable  appetite  and  digestion,  and  has 
never  shown  any  particular  weakness,  except  for  work- 
ed slippers,  and  other  pretty  presents  from  his  pretty 
parishioners.  But  they  have  declared  he  must  go,  and 
with  the  air  of  a  well-fed  and  well-dressed  martyr  he 
resigns  himself  to  their  solicitations.  He  declares, 
however,  he  would  sooner  die  in  the  pulpit  (the  cause 
of  eloquence  would  improve  if  he  should)  than  aban- 
don any  part  of  his  duty.  At  this,  his  feminine  wor- 
shipers vow  he  is  a  saint,  and  beg  him  to  depart,  with 
tears  in  their  beautiful  eyes. 

Fitzdoodle  goes,  and  has,  you  may  be  assured,  a 
good  time.  He  returns  in  six  months,  having  drank 
more  wine  than  was  beneficial  to  him,  and  threatened 
with  gout,  which  he  ascribes  to  his  severe  studies  of 
theological  works  while  on  the  Continent. 

Not  far  from  this  clergyman  is  a  pretty  brunette, 
who  is  parting  with  the  "only  man  she  ever  loved." 
She  tells  Paul,  while  she  leans  on  his  arm,  that  her 
heart  is  almost  breaking,  and  that  she  would'nt  go, 
but  that  pa  won't  listen  to  her  remaining  behind. 
Paul  is  deeply  touched,  and  so  is  Ida ;  and  they  look 
at  each  other  through  tear-dimmed  eyes  as  the  steamer 


QQ  The  Great  Metropolis. 

moves  off.  The  third  day  out  Ida  flirts  with  a  young 
Englishman,  and  on  the  sixth  forgets  all  about  Paul, 
who  is  consoling  himself  with  half-a-dozen  other  women, 
telling  each  one  he  doesn't  care  a  straw  for  his  de- 
parted dear. 

On  the  French  steamer  a  pair  are  devoting  them- 
selves to  one  another,  and  are  really  very  fond.  They 
are  engaged,  and  on  their  way  to  visit  all  the  wonders 
and  beauties  of  Europe  together,  under  the  proper 
surveillance  of  their  elders.  James  will  kiss  Mollie  on 
deck  by  the  star-light  for  the  first  three  evenings,  and, 
on  the  fourth,  will  hold  her  over  the  side  while  she  is 
sick.  A  change  in  the  situation,  certainly ;  but  they 
are  to  l^e  married,  and  they  might  as  well  have  some 
of  the  unavoidable  prose  before  as  after  wedlock. 

Here  is  a  pale,  but  singularly  sweet-looking  woman, 
with  her  husband,  and  their  friend — more  hers  than 
his,  I  fear.  She  is  going  away  to  break  off  her  rela- 
tion with  the  man  she  cannot  wed,  but  must  always 
love.  He  has  advised  her  to  the  course,  and  hopes 
they  may  have  a  future  yet.  Perhaps  they  will.  But 
while  he  waits  for  her  letter,  which  is  to  tell  him  of 
her  return,  he  gets  the  husband's  note,  and,  opening  it, 
discovers  their  future  is  beyond  this  World.  She  is 
dead;  and  hope  comes  not  to  the  lover's  heart — for 
three  months  at  least. 

Such  is  the  shipping.  We  all  send  our  little  vessels 
out,  and,  to  many  of  us,  they  never  return. 


CHAPTER    VI. 
THE    ROUGHS. 

A  MORE  despicable,  dangerous,  and  detestable  char- 
acter than  the  New -York  rough  does  not  exist.  He 
is  an  epitome  of  all  the  meannesses  and  vices  of  hu- 
manity, and  capable,  under  pressure,  of  a  courage  des- 
perate and  deadly.  He  is  Parolles,  Bobadil,  and  Hot- 
spur all  at  once, — a  creature  without  conscience,  a 
savage  without  the  virtues  of  nature.  He  is  not  totally 
depraved,  for  total  depravity  is  impossible;  but  his 
redeeming  traits  are  so  few,  only  the  microscope  of  a 
broad  charity  can  detect  them.  He  is  a  social  hyena, 
a  rational  jackal,  utterly  devoid  of  reverence  or  re- 
spect, whom  education  does  not  reach,  and  society  can- 
not tame. 

The  metropolitan  rough  is  usually  American  born, 
but  of  foreign  parentage,  surrounded  by,  and  reared 
from  his  childhood  under  the  worst  influences, — all 
his  brutal  instincts  stimulated,  and  his  moral  being 
suffocated,  for  want  of  wholesome  air.  Training  he 
cannot  get ;  education  he  will  not  have.  He  generally 
learns  to  read,  however,  by  accident,  and  enjoys  the 
knowledge  in  poring  over  obscene  books,  the  Clipper^ 
and  the  Police  Gazette.  He  manages,  too,  by  some 
mysterious  means,  to  write  a  coarse  kind  of  scrawl, 
which  enables  him  to  convey  his  plans  to  his  brother- 


GS  The  Great  Metropolis. 

scoundrels  when  he  is  in  the  Tombs,  or  they  are  at 
BlackwelFs  Island. 

Without  education,  he  acquires  a  certain  degree  of 
intelligence  that  is  almost  unavoidable  in  the  atmos- 
phere of  a  great  city ;  and  his  experience  of  the  worst 
phases  of  life  makes  him  cunning  as  a  fox  and  cruel  as 
a  tiger.  Long  before  maturity,  he  has  developed  all 
the  instincts  of  a  beast  of  prey,  and,  in  the  midst  of 
a  civilized  community,  he  roams  like  a  wolf  among  a 
herd  of  sheep. 

The  facial  and  cranial  appearance  of  the  rough  goes 
far  to  establish  the  truth  of  physiognomy  and  phrenol- 
ogy. All  the  animal  is  in  the  shape  of  his  features  and 
head ;  but  the  semblance  of  the  thinking,  cultivated, 
self-disciplined  man  is  very  nearly  lost.  The  cheek 
bones  are  high ;  the  nose  is  flat ;  the  lips  are  thick  and 
coarse ;  the  forehead  low  and  receding ;  the  jaws  mas- 
sive and  protuberant ;  the  neck  thick  and  thewy ;  the 
head  mostly  behind  the  huge,  prehensile  ears.  He  is 
the  exact  species  of  animal  from  which  a  sensitive,  in- 
tuitive organization  would  shrink,  without  knowing 
why.  His  approach  in  the  dark  would  be  felt  as  some- 
thing dangerous.  Dogs  and  children  would  avoid  him, 
and  detectives  watch  him  on  instinct. 

How  many  of  this  class  the  Metropolis  contains,  will 
never  be  known.  The  rough,  though  gregarious,  is 
mysterious.  He  is  Very  vain,  but  he  d  )cs  not  court 
popularity,  nor  seek  to  attract  attention.  Outside  of 
his  own  degraded  circle,  he  is  not  ambitious  of  dis- 
tinction ;  for  distinction  increases  the  liability  to  arrest, 
and  interferes  with  future  operations. 

Probably  New- York  can  count  its  roughs  by  thou- 
sands, though  they  so  burrow  in  the  slums  and  dens  of 


The  Eoughs.  69 

the  town,  that  nothing  but  an  earthquake  will  ever 
upheave  them  all.  They  delight  in  darkness ;  and  yet 
they  are  so  numerous  and  varied  in  character  that 
many  woo  the  day ;  brave  the  public  eye ;  defy  pub- 
lic justice.  The  Fourth,  Sixth,  and  part  of  the 
Eighteenth  wards  are  their  favorite  haunts,  albeit  no 
portion  of  the  island  confines  them.  They  are  water- 
rats  and  land-rats,  river  thieves  and  land  thieves,  pimps, 
confidence  men,  brawlers,  burglars  and  assassins,  as 
circumstance  shapes  and  occasion  demands. 

They  are  reared  in  and  trained  to  idleness  and  dis- 
sipation from  their  first  years.  They  are  fed  on  to- 
bacco and  gin  from  childhood.  Ribald  songs  and  the 
roar  of  swinish  carousals,  in  place  of  maternal  lullabies, 
echo  in  their  infant  ears.  Living  much  in  the  open 
air,  and  fond  of  rude  physical  sports,  they  grow  up 
stout  and  hardy,  in  spite  of  bad  habits  and  pernicious 

nurture. 

In  their  early  teens,  they  find  themselves  lewd  and 
lusty,  thoroughly  selfish  and  sensual,  principled  against 
work,  predetermined  to  dishonesty  and  tyranny,  all 
their  worst  passions  in  full  play,  and  their  sympathies 
and  sensibilities  latent,  if  not  extinguished.  In  the 
midst  of  a  great  and  wealthy  city,  they  consider  its  in- 
habitants objects  of  prey,  and  discover  on  every  hand 
the  abundant  means  of  knavish  livelihood. 

To  bar-rooms  and  brothels  they  tend  by  a  natural 
law,  and  soon  come  to  regard  ruffians,  thieves  and 
prize-fighters  worthy  examples  of  imitation  and  objects 
of  envy.  Any  part  of  their  brutal  education  that  may 
have  been  neglected,  is  readily  supplied  in  such  places 
and  by  such  -companions.  The  more  precociously 
shameful  they  are,  the  more  they  are  flattered  and 


70  The  Great  Metropolis. 

coddled.  Their  first  fight  and  first  debauch  are  like 
the  first  honors  of  a  college ;  and  they  mount  higher 
and  higher  by  sinking  deeper  and  deeper  into  the 
slough  of  ^  degradation. 

Their  earliest,  as  it  is  their  latest,  shame,  is  their  con- 
nection with  courtesans,  upon  the  wages  of  whose 
prostitution  they  live,  not  only  unblushingly,  but  boast- 
fully. To  those  poor  creatures  they  give  the  little  af- 
fection they  are  capable  of — paying  for  pecuniary  sup- 
port by  abuse  and  outrage.  To  rob  and  beat  in  the 
morning,  the  woman  whose  arms  they  seek  at  night,  is 
their  idea  of  gallantry  and  chivalry ;  and  they  reli- 
giously believe  that  any  departure  from  such  conduct 
would  result  in  the  extinction  of  her  love.  Though 
they  maltreat  her  themselves,  they  do  not  allow  others 
the  precious  privilege.  They  are  her  champions  in- 
deed, when  foreign  foes  invade  or  civil  discords  rise. 
And  she,  with  the  instinct  of  her  sex,  which  neither 
neglect  nor  wrong  can  suppress,  leans  on,  looks  up  to, 
and  loves  the  brutal  fellow  who  strikes  her  thrice  for 
every  kiss.  Not  a  cyprian  in  the  town  but  has  her 
"lover"  and  protector  in  the  shape  of  a  rough,  who, 
through  laxity  of  law,  has  escaped  the  penitentiary, 
and,  perhaps,  the  gallows.  She  cannot  do  without 
him,  nor  can  he  without  her ;  though  she  is  noble  com- 
pared to  him — aye,  a  saint  by  contrast.  She  is. branded 
as  an  outcast ;  she  could  not  return  to  purity  if  she 
would.  He  might  reform  and  be  accepted  to-morrow ; 
but  he  would  not  be  honest  if  he  could. 

A  popular  recreation  with  the  roughs  of  Manhattan 
is  to  attend  picnics  unbidden,  and  excursions  which 
quiet  and  orderly  people  originate  for  rational  enjoy- 
ment.     They  make  their  arrangements  beforehand; 


The  Eoughs.  71 

appoint  a  rendezvous  upon  tlie  cars  or  boat,  (they  pre- 
fer the  water  journeys,)  and  keep  peaceful  until  the 
place  of  destination  has  been  reached.  They  either 
take  liquor  with  them,  or  get  it  along  the  route ;  and, 
arrived  on  the  spot,  they  proceed  systematically  to  cre- 
ate a  disturbance,  which  no  amount  of  patience  or  for- 
bearance can  prevent.  The  more  amiable  the  objects 
of  persecution,  the  more  resolved  the  roughs  to  make 
a  row.  In  this  country  seekers  of  quarrel  can  always 
find  it.  Endurance  ceases  to  be  a  virtue.  Blows  fol- 
low words,  and  the  rowdies  are  in  their  natural  ele- 
ment. They  are  on  the  spot  in  numbers,  organized 
and  armed,  and  carry  things  their  own  way  by  aid  of 
superior  strength. 

The  quiet  men  are  brutally  beaten  and  robbed.  The 
women  are  terrified,  but  their  screams  are  silenced  by 
threats.  They  are  extremely  fortunate  if  they  escape 
outrage,  which  part  of  the  programme  is  generally 
followed. 

Sometimes  such  entertainments  are  deferred  until 
the  return  of  the  excursion.  Then  the  train  or  boat 
is  seized,  and  the  rowdies  do  as  they  please ;  eluding 
or  defying  the  police,  between  whom  and  themselves 
there  seems  often  to  be  a  perfect  understanding. 

One  would  not  believe  such  things  could  happen, 
much  less  be  repeated.  But  they  do  and  are,  season 
after  season,  and  have  grown  so  common  as  to  cease  to 
attract  particular  attention.  That  they  would  be  pos- 
sible anywhere  else,  now  that  the  days  of  Baltimore 
plug-  uglyism  are  over,  I  have  not  the  remotest  idea. 
New- York  is  the  great  centre  of  disorder  and  lawless- 
ness, and  her  roughs  the  protected  powers  in  her  com- 
munity. 


72  The  Great  Metropolis. 

The  rougli  is  not  a  regular  or  professional  thief;  nor 
does  he  generally  consort  with  thieves.  His  chief  af- 
finities are  bar-keepers,  prize-fighters,  harlots  and  ward 
politicians.  He  steals  only  when  occasion  requires, 
and  commits  crime  when  his  ordinary  means  of  rev- 
enue fail.  He  enjoys  fighting  when  he  is  confident  of 
''  victory,  and  relishes  the  beating  of  an  inoffensive  and 
unmuscular  citizen  as  he  does  his  morning  cocktail. 
He  is  a  trained  and  practised  bruiser,  and  his  youthful 
memories  are  of  battles  with  boys  for  a  drink  of  whisky. 
He  knows  all  about  "the  ring"  and  its  chamj)ions,  and 
BelVs  Life  has  for  him  all  the  charm  of  a  romance. 
But  for  the  accounts  of  prize-fights,  it  is  doubtful  if  he 
would  ever  have  learned  to  read ;  but,  with  such  per- 
petual promise  of  pleasure,  he  nerves  himself  to  the 
task,  and  accomplishes  it. 

All  forms  of  combat  please  him.  He  would  have 
enjoyed  the  ancient  gladiatorial  exhibitions  like  a  true 
Roman,  and  would'  find  as  much  happiness  in  a  bull- 
fight as  a  born  Spaniard.  Cock  and  rat  pits  are  his 
delight,  and  the  fistic  ropes  the  summit  of  his  ambition. 
A  severe,  bloody  dog-fight,  where  one  savage  brute 
literally  chews  the  other  to  pieces,  fills  him  with  en- 
thusiasm ;  and  that  there  are  no  battles  to  the  death 
with  bowie-knives,  he  considers  the  broadest  mark  of 
the  degeneracy  of  the  times. 

No  marvel  he  gloats  over  those  inspiring  accounts 
and  cuts  of  the  Police  Gazette^  wherein  Lindley  Mur- 
ray is  butchered  in  colder  blood  than  the  victims  of 
burglars  and  midnight  marauders.  What  pleasant 
dreams  must  be  his,  (does  he  ever  dream  ?)  and  how 
sweet  his  reflections  in  tranquil  hours ! 

An  undetermined  status  is  that  of  the  rough ;   for 


The  Roughs.  73 

he  is  emphatically  the  creature  of  circumstance,  so  far 
as  his  degree  of  evil  and  crime  is  concerned.  If  for- 
tune be  kind,  and  courtesans  liberal,  he  may  never  be 
more  than  an  amateur  thief,  an  enthusiastic  bruiser,  or 
member  of  the  City  Council.  But  if  fate  and  women 
frown,  he  will  become  a  professional  burglar  and  a 
murderer,  and,  unless  the  gallows  interfere,  end  his 
days  among  the  Aldermen  or  in  Sing- Sing.  The  sole 
objection  he  has  to  the  greater  crimes  is,  that  they  ex- 
pose him  to  punishment,  and  sometimes  compel  him  to 
quit  New- York,  which  he  ever  cleaves  to,  knowing 
that  nowhere  else  in  the  World  is  there  such  security 
for  villains  of  the  deepest  dye.  Municipal  office  is  the 
half-way  house  between  the  rum-shop  and  the  prison  ; 
and,  if  the  rough  can  lodge  there,  he  is  plucked  from 
dangerous  precipices.  Once  chosen  a  servant  of  the 
people,  or  plunderer  of  the  treasury,  which  is  the  syn- 
onym in  New- York,  his  avarice  is  so  aroused  that  he 
becomes  conservative.  The  love  of  money  clashes 
with  the  love  of  other  evil,  and  his  greed  waxes  so 
rapacious  that  prize-fights  and  petticoat-pensioning  are 
gradually  neglected. 

All  our  roughs  are  eligible  to  municipal  office  by 
reason  of  peculiar  training  and  moral  character ;  and 
yet  most  of  tjiem  miss  their  political  destiny,  and  strike 
their  penal  one — or  would  if  they  got  their  deserts. 

Strange,  how  few  of  our  roughs,  who  are  among  the 
rarest  scoundrels  under  the  sun,  are  brought  to  justice ! 
They  lead  the  most  infamous  lives,  and  die  quietly  in 
their  beds,  and  have  obituaries  written  about  them  as 
''old  and  esteemed  citizens."  With  age  they  grow 
cautious,  even  timid,  and,  instead  of  knocking  down 
unsophisticated  gentlemen  from  the  country,  at  un- 


74  The  Great  Metropolis. 

seemly  hours  of  the  mornmg,  they  thrust  their  hands 
into  the  City  exchequer,  and  are  envied  and  applauded 
for  their  skill  in  stealing. 

Hundreds  of  outrages  are  committed  daily  in  this 
City,  by  notorious  roughs ;  and  yet  the  arrests  are  so 
very  few  as  scarcely  to  deserve  mention.  True,  the 
papers  say  the  offenders  are  "known  to  the  police;" 
and  that  may  be  the  reason  they  are  not  disturbed  in 
their  career  of  iniquity. 

Men  are  robbed  in  broad  daylight ;  women  are  vio- 
lated in  the  street  cars ;  stores  and  dwellings  are  set 
on  fire ;  houses  are  entered  by  burglars ;  corpses  are 
thrown  into  the  river ;  mysteriously  murdered  persons 
are  sent  to  the  Morgue.  The  roughs  are  the  authors 
of  those  misdeeds,  and  are  likely  to  be  for  years  to 
come,  without  serious  hindrance.  Occasionally,  for 
the  sake  of  effect,  one  of  them,  like  Brierly  or  Jerry 
O'Brien,  is  hanged,  and  the  journals  contain  ghastly 
elaborate  accounts  of  his  execution.  But  others,  even 
more  guilty,  are  permitted  to  escape,  and  the  saturn- 
alia of  crime  go  on  unchecked. 

No  New-Yorker  who  goes  his  accustomed  rounds, 
who  frequents  Broadway  and  the  Avenue,  the  business 
and  fashionable  haunts,  has  any  conception  of  the  vol- 
canic elements  of  vice  that  are  smouldering  in  un- 
visited  and  unseen  places. 

The  great,  fierce  beast  pursues  and  finds  his  prey 
night  after  night ;  and  yet  he  slays  so  silently  that  few 
are  aware  of  his  dangerous  presence.  But  in  that 
dreary  garret,  in  that  noisome  cellar,  in  that  gilded 
lazar-house,  the  beast  lies,  half  serpent,  half  tiger, 
coiled,  crouching,  ready  for  the  deadly  spring.  Go 
you  there,  and  you  will  start  before  the  cruel  glitter 


The  Roughs.  75 

of  his  eyes,  and  the  savage  growl  that  seems  to  tear 
mercy  to  pieces.  But  you  need  have  no  new  cause 
of  alarm.  He  has  been  there  for  years,  as  fierce,  as 
hungry,  as  potent  as  ever.  He  is  constantly  unsheath- 
ing his  claws,  and  striking  his  victim,  but  noiselessly 
as  death.  Only  at  long  intervals  does  he  dare  to 
emerge  into  the  open  day,  and  roar  defiance  to  the 
general  peace  and  public  security.  Until  we  kill  him 
outright,  until  the  Metropolis  is  purified,  he  may  awake 
us  at  midnight  with  his  mingled  hiss  and  roar,  and 
strike  and  strangle  us  in  the  arms  of  Love,  and  on  the 
very  breast  of  Peace. 


CHAPTER  Vn. 
BLACKWELL'S    ISLAND. 

Thousands  of  people  who  live  in  New  York  have 
never  seen  Blackw ell's  Island ;  and  quite  as  many,  I 
venture  to  assert,  cannot  tell  where  it  is.  They  hear 
it  mentioned  day  after  day ;  they  know  it  is  devoted 
to  penal  institutions,  and  somewhere  in  the  vicinity  of 
the  Metropolis.  But  whether  it  is  in  the  Sound,  or 
East  or  North  river,  or  in  the  Bay,  they  are  wholly 
ignorant. 

Time  and  again  I  have  heard  my  fellow-passengers, 
residents  of  this  city,  inquire,  while  steaming  to  Provi- 
dence or  Boston  through  the  East  river,  "What  place 
is  that?"  as  they  passed  the  pleasant-lookmg  spot. 
And  they  were  much  surprised  when  informed  that  it 
was  the  notorious  Blackwell's  island. 

To  the  poor  loafers,  vagrants,  and  small  rogues  of 
the  Metropolisjthe  Island,  as  it  is  called  by  way  of  dis- 
tinction, is  better  known.  They  have  learned  its  ex- 
act location  and  peculiarities  by  sad  experience ;  and 
they  are  continually  refreshing  their  memories  by  re- 
peated incarcerations.  I  say  the  poor  loafers  and 
small  rogues,  for  the  prosperous  and  great  ones  are 
clad  in  purple  and  fine  linen,  instead  of  striped  uni- 
forms, and  go  to  Long  Branch  and  Europe  instead  of 
Blackwell's  island. 

Men  not  one-tenth  as  guilty  as  the  dwellers  amid 


Blackwell's  Island.  77 

Fifth- Avenue    luxury  or  Grammercy-Park   splendors 

have  passed  half  their  lives  on 
the  island,  at  Sing  Sing,  and 
Auburn ;  and  the  wealthy  and 
superior  scoundrels  have  won- 
dered meanwhile  at  the  depravi- 
ty of  the  poor. 

The  island,  the  lower  end  of 
which  is  opposite  Sixty-first 
A  BLACKWELL'S  ISLANDER,  ^trcct  111  thc  East  rivcr,  is  ouc 
of  the  pleasantest  spots,  to  the  outward  eye,  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  Metropolis.  During  seven  or  eight 
months  of  the  year  it  is  as  green,  and  cool,  and  pic- 
turesque a  place  as  one  could  desire  to  linger  in.  The 
skies  are  so  fair  and  spotless;  the  air  is  so  soft  and 
fresh ;  the  water  so  smooth  and  clear  around  it,  that 
it  appears  quite  the  ideal  of  a  Summer  resort.  Few 
pass  it  on  steamers  without  admiring  it,  and  declaring 
what  a  charming  abode  those  villains  have ;  forgetting 
their  own^  perhaps,  greater  sins,  and  that  the  crime  of 
the  villains  is  only  misfortune  by  another  name. 

The  early  history  of  the  island  is  involved  in  mys- 
tery and  tradition.  It  was  a  favorite  pleasure  ground 
with  the  Indians,  it  is  said,  and  the  early  Dutch  set- 
tlers celebrated  their  festal  days  there  with  a  simplicity 
characteristic  of  their  fatherland.  In  1823  it  passed 
into  the  hands  of  James  Blackwell,  an  Englishman, 
who  occupied  it  with  his  family  as  a  farm  for  a  num- 
ber of  years,  and  from  whom  it  received  its  present 
name.  About  thirty-five  years  ago  it  was  purchased 
by  the  City,  and  has  since  been  employed  as  a  prison 
for  the  violators  of  municipal  ordinances. 

The  buildings  are  of  gray  granite,  -with  a  few  frame 


78  The  Great  Metropolis. 

outhouses,  well  constructed,  spacious,  airy,  and  as 
comfortable  as  such  places  can  be.  They  seem  decid- 
edly desirable  at  a  distance,  vastly  preferable  to  the 
over-crowded  tenement  houses  of  the  Fourth,  Sixth, 
and  Eighteenth  wards,  and  induce  one  to  believe  that 
therein  mercy  tempers  justice.  But  prisons  are  never 
•handsome  to  persons  confined  in  them ;  and  he  who 
imagines  the  island  attractive  can  have  his  illusion  dis- 
pelled by  a  short  confinement. 

The  buildings  are  the  hospital,  workhouse,  lunatic 
asylum,  almshouse,  and  penitentiary.  The  indigent 
and  the  criminal  have  different  quarters,  but  are  treated 
in  much  the  same  manner.  There  is  a  species  of 
worldly  justice  in  this ;  for  poverty  is  the  only  crime 
society  cannot  forgive. 

The  men  and  women  are  kept  apart  in  all  the  build- 
ings, though  they  contrive  to  elude  vigilance  and  get 
together  often,  as  is  shown  by  the  fact  that  children  are 
born  there  whose  mothers  have  been  on  the  island  for 
more  than  a  year. 

The  paupers,  and  criminals,  and  lunatics  vary  in 
number  from  three  to  five  thousand  all  told ;  and  they 
increase  every  year,  so  that  some  of  the  departments 
are  greatly  crowded  and  unhealthy  in  consequence. 
The  care  of  the  paupers  and  criminals  is  as  good  as 
could  be  expected;  but  it  is  anything  but  what  it 
ought  to  be ;  and  flagrant  acts  of  injustice,  oppression, 
and  even  cruelty  are  not  uncommon. 

It  is  usual,  in  writing  about  superintendents,  over- 
seers, wardens,  and  turnkeys  of  charitable  and  penal 
institutions,  to  speak  of  them  as  humane  and  sympa- 
thetic, which  they  very  rarely  are.  I  have  seen  a 
good  deal  of  this  class,  and  I  have  often  found  them 


Black  well's  Island.  ^     79 

hard,  unfeeling  and  tyrannical,  and  not  unfrequently 
brutal  and  cruel  to  the  last  degree.  Their  position  is 
not  calculated  to  develop  the  sensibilities  or  refine  the 
sentiments,  and  they  do  not  enter  upon  their  duties 
with  any  surplus  of  charity  or  tenderness.  To  expect 
the  cardinal  virtues  of  them  is  unreasonable.  If  they 
were  fine  or  gentle  natures,  they  would  not  be  there ; 
for  saints  do  not  gravitate  to  the  custodianship  of  pris- 
ons and  poor-houses,  any  more  than  vestals  do  to 
stews. 

I  seldom  see  men  or  women  in  such  a  place,  partic- 
ularly the  former,  without  an  instinctive  shrinking  from 
them.  Their  faces,  their  manner,  their  voices  betray 
them  generally  for  what  they  are.  I  cannot  but  pity 
the  unfortunate  committed  to  their  keeping,  subjected 
to  their  power. 

The  attaches  of  Blackwell's  island  are  not  excep- 
tions. I  have  read  their  praises  in  the  papers,  from 
the  pens  of  partial  reporters ;  but  those  praises  were 
for  the  most  part  either  the  blunders  of  ignorance  or 
the  result  of  premeditated  misrepresentation. 

The  hospital  is  a  stone  building,  400  by  50  feet,  and 
usually  contains  200  to  400  patients  suffering  from 
every  form  of  disease.  They  are  fairly  cared  for ;  their 
beds  clean ;  their  diet  wholesome,  and  medical  atten- 
tion good.  They  are  ranged  on  little  iron  bedsteads 
in  long  rows,  and  are  melancholy -looking  enough  ;  for 
little  intelligence  or  moral  culture  illumines  their  pale 
and  wasted  faces. 

The  mortality  among  them  is  large,  because  they 
have  abused  themselves  or  been  abused  sadly  by  se- 
verity of  circumstance.  Many  of  them  have  been 
drunkards  and  outcasts  from  their  birth ;  others  have 


80  .  The  Great  Metropolis. 

inherited  broken  constitutions  and  ancestral  disease ; 
and  9.11  have  come  into  being  out  of  parallel  with  na- 
ture— organization  and  destiny  against  them. 

Death  can  have  few  terrors  for  them  (it  is  always 
less  fearful  when  near  than  at  a  distance);  and  I  do  not 
marvel  they  breathe  their  last  with  perfect  resignation, 
or  that  they  pass  out  of  life  cursing  all  that  has  been 
and  is  to  come. 

Sickness  is  ever  painful.  But  sickness  there,  with- 
out hope,  without  means,  without  sympathy,  without 
future,  without  friends,  must  be  agony  unrelieved. 

Their  logic  must  be  this :  What  have  they  to  dread 
from  change  ?  What  other  sphere  can  be  worse  than 
this  to  them  ?  If  God  be  powerful,  He  must  gradually 
lift  their  burthens.  If  He  be  good.  He  will  not  punish 
them ;  for  they  have  already  suffered  beyond  their  sin. 
And  if  He  be  not,  then  they  will  not  be  either.  What 
then  have  they  to  fear  ? 

The  workhouse  much  resembles  the  other  buildings. 
It  is  gray,  granite,  grim.  Its  inmates  vary  from  600 
to  800,  fully  half  of  whom  are  women ;  though  fe- 
males would  be  the  fitter  word,  inasmuch  as  woman 
suggests  gentleness,  tenderness,  and  lovableness, — 
qualities  in  which  the  island  is  deplorably  deficient. 

Persons  are  sent  there  for  minor  offenses,  such  as 
drunkenness,  disorderly  conduct,  carrying  concealed 
weapons,  vagrancy,  and  the  like.  Very  few  of  the  in- 
mates that  have  not  been  there  again  and  again.  They 
are  sentenced  for  30,  60,  or  90  days,  and  at  the  end  of 
this  term  they  are  discharged  only  to  be  brought  back 
for  a  similar  offense  before  the  week  is  fairly  gone. 

A  number  of  the  men  are  employed  at  trades. 
They  make  clothes,  or  shoes  or  brooms ;  but  most  of 


Black  well's  Island.  81 

them  are  engaged  in  quarrying  or  farming  upon  the 
island.  They  assist  in  repairing  the  different  structures 
and  raise  vegetables  for  home  consumption. 

The  women  make  hoop-skirts  and  braid  straw ;  do 
the  necessary  cleaning,  and  wash  and  iron  for  the  other 
prisoners  and  paupers.  Many  seem  quite  contented, 
and  are  very  different  creatures  from  what  they  are 
when  intoxicated ;  intoxication  usually  being  the  cause 
of  their  commitment.  Some  of  the  men  and  women 
have  been  sent  to  the  island  30,  40,  even  50  times,  and 
are  doomed  to  die  there.  They  have  no  restraining, 
no  reforming  influences ;  and  they  return  to  their  old 
ways  and  habits  by  the  same  law  that  impels  the  tides 
of  the  sea. 

The  almshouse  includes  forty  acres,  almost  a  third  of 
the  entire  island,  and  has  800  to  1,000  inhabitants;  the 
men  generally  being  in  the  majority.  Both  sexes  are 
worthless  creatures,  and  their  surroundings  remind  one 
of  the  perpetual  palaver  of  Mrs.  Gummidge,  whose 
constant  apprehension  was,  that  she  would  be  "sent  to 
the  House."  Their  advanced  age  is  particularly  no- 
ticeable, and  you  wonder  how  such  poverty  and  dis- 
tress can  have  sustained  life  so  long.  They  are  with 
rare  exceptions  extremely  ignorant ;  have  been  born 
to  the  fate  they  follow ;  have  ahvays  had  for  familiar 
companions  stupidity,  squalor  and  sin. 

Nineteen-twentieths  of  them  are  foreigners,  the  Irish 
being  the  most  largely  represented.  And  at  least  half 
of  them  came  paupers  to  our  shores.  Not  a  few,  how- 
ever, were  once  industrious  and  honest,  and  have  been 
prevented  from  earning  a  livelihood  by  loss  of  health 
or  some  accident"  that  has  maimed  them. 

The  baby  department  attached  to  the  alms-house  has 
6 


82  The  Gheat  Metropolis. 

usually  about  200  little  cliildren  who  have  either  been 
taken  there  with  their  mothers,  or  found  without  pa- 
rents. They  are  generally  from  a  few  months  to  two 
or  three  years  old,  and  are  great  favorites  with  and 
pets  of  the  aged,  and  even  the  younger  women.  Such 
is  the  maternal  instinct  of  the  sex  that  no  deprivation, 
nor  suffering,  nor  adversity,  nor  degradation  can  sup- 
press it  wholly. 

Ill-natured  stories  are  afloat  that  some  of  the  infants 
are,  strictly  speaking,  home  productions;  but  those 
who  are  acquainted  with  the  purity  and  continence  of 
the  attaches  will  not  be  slow  to  pronounce  such  stories 
vile  slanders. 

The  penitentiary  is  an  enormous  building,  and  con- 
tains at  present  about  600  inmates — all  masculine. 
They  are  employed  very  much  as  their  companions  in 
the  workhouse,  though  they  are  more  closely  watched, 
and  the  discipline  is  more  severe.  They  rise  at  6  in 
the  morning,  and  after  breakfast,  they  begin  their  tasks 
and  labor  until  nearly  6  in  the  evening.  When  they 
have  taken  their  not  very  savory  supper,  they  are 
locked  up  in  their  cells  over  night.  They  are  attired 
in  striped  uniforms,  and  for  refractory  conduct  they  are 
put  on  bread  and  water  diet  and  confined  in  dark  dun- 
geons. Most  of  the  criminals  are  ruffians  and  thieves 
who  have  been  committed  for  serious  assaults,  stab- 
bing, shooting  and  stealing.  They  are  a  hopeless  and 
graceless  set,  the  greater  part  at  least,  and  are  usually 
fitted  there  for  the  higher  honors  of  Sing- Sing. 

Very  many  of  them  are  quite  young,  and  the  gen- 
erality in  good  health  and  of  excellent  physique.  But 
their  faces,  especially  their  eyes,  indicate  their  charac- 
ter, and  strengthen  faith  in  the  truth  of  physiognomy. 


Blackwell's  Island.  83 

You  can  see  now  and  then,  a  strange  mixture  of  cun- 
ning and  boldness,  of  restlessness  and  desperation  in 
their  repulsive  countenances,  and  you  feel  those  men 
are  capable  of  any  crime  under  temptation  or  oppor- 
tunity. 

A  strange,  sad  place  is  Blackwell's  island.  After 
going  there  you  are  relieved  when  you  return  on  the 
ferry  and  feel  the  breeze  from  the  sea  Blowing  through 
your  hair  as  if  to  purify  you  from  the  unwholesome 
atmosphere  you  have  just  breathed.  You  look  back  at 
the  island,  and  all  its  beauty  is  gone.  Never  again 
does  it  seem  picturesque ;  for  you  see  through  its  out- 
side down  to  its  black  and  cankered  heart. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
THE    FIRST    OF    MAY. 

The  first  of  May,  geuerallj  associated  in  this  coun- 
try with  all  the  sweetness,  and  beauty,  and  gladness 
of  spring,  is  in  New  York  associated  only  with  change 
of  residence,  and  the  countless  vexations  and  disa- 
greeablenesses  of  moving. 

Elsewhere,  children  hail  the  day  with  delight,  and 
mature  persons  look  back  to  it  with  pleasure  as  a  cor- 
onation of  youth  and  a  celebration  of  the  heart. 
Here,  we  consider  ourselves  merely  May  Day's  victims, 
despoiled  of  the  flowers,  and  deem  the  occasion  so 
ungrateful^  that  we  expel  it  from  the  memory  as  far  as 
possible,  until  its  unavoidable  return  forces  itself  upon 
our  attention. 

Of  all  the  da^fs  of  the  year,  the  first  of  May  is  the 
most  hateful  in  the  Metropolis.  This  City  will  never 
be  quite  happy  until  that  date  is  either  obliterated 
from  the  calendar,  or  the  custom  that  deforms  it  be 
abolished.  While  the  country  goes  Maying  with 
floral  chaplets  and  winged  steps,  and  airy  laughter, 
the  Metropolis  turns  itself  upside  down ;  exchanges 
houses;  is  disheveled  and  disgusted,  for  at  least  a 
week  of  the  month  of  beauty  and  of  blossoms. 

By  what  malignant  and  mysterious  agency  the  cus- 
tom of  moving  on  the  first  of  May  was  ever  estab- 
lished in  this  unfortunate  city,  has  never  been  accu- 


First  of  May.  85 

rately  ascertained.  It  is  supposed,  however,  to  have 
originated,  as  did  many  other  things,  good  and  evil, 
with  the  early  Dutch  settlers  here,  who  must  have 
borrowed  it  from  Satan  or  the  demon  of  discord,  for 
the  especial  affliction  of  unregenerate  mankind.  That 
such  an  inconvenient,  unreasonable  and  expensive 
habit  should  have  been  continued  to  this  day,  in  the 
face  of  perpetual  complaint  and  annual  protest,  is 
singular  enough,  and  can  only  be  regarded  as  one  of 
the  phenomena  of  life  in  Manhattan.  The  constant 
advance,  however,  in  real  estate  and  house-rents  on 
this  Island  for  five-and-twenty,  particularly  the  last 
ten  years,  has  had  much  to  do  with  the  perpetuation 
of  the  annoyance  in  all  probability.  Tenants  have 
been  unwilling  to  take  a  house,  whose  rent  they  deem 
exorbitant,  and  which,  they  are  convinced,  must  be 
lower  the  subsequent  year — for  a  longer  period  than 
a  twelve-month.  Every  May  they  discover  their  mis- 
take ;  but  hope  springs  immortal  in  the  human  breast 
of  house-renters,  and  every  May  they  repeat  their 
blunder,  under  the  delusion  that  prices  must  sometime 
be  reasonable,  and  that  landlords  must  have  con- 
sciences. When  rents  do  fall,  if  that  metropolitan 
milennium  should  ever  be,  then  tenants  will  expect  a 
continuous  decline,  and  will  be  unwilling  to  occupy 
their  dwellings  beyond  a  single  year.  So  until  the 
end  of  this  generation  at  least.  New  York  is  likely  to 
be  annually  cursed  with  its  May  moving. 

If  Othello  had  lived  in  Gotham  his  reference  to 

— "moving  accidents  by  flood  and  field 

would  have  been  more  significant  and  impressive  than 
it  possibly  coiild  be  in  the  romantic  city  by  the  sound- 
ing sea. 

it  *  Oi  A  A  A 


86  The  Great  Metropolis. 

A  privileged  class,  if  not  one  absolutely  blessed,  is 
that  which  owns  its  houses.  But,  in  New-York,  to 
own  a  house  is,  to  a  man  of  ordinary  means  or  ordi- 
nary prospects,  much  like  the  possession  of  Alladdin's 
palace.  Few  can  hope  for  it;  fewer  still  can  realize 
that  comfortable  dream. 

A  good,  convenient  dwelling,  with  modern  im- 
provements, is  worth  a  small  fortune  on  this  Island. 
Few  can  be  had  less  than  $20,000,  and  from  that  the 
price  rises  to  the  region  of  financial  fable.  Nineteen- 
twentieths  of  the  people  here  might  therefore  as 
rationally  expect  to  have  Stewart's  income,  or  be 
genuine  heirs  of  Aneke  Jans,  as  to  find  themselves 
holders  in  fee-simple  of  a  private  dwelling  in  any 
"respectable"  quarter  of  the  town. 

The  owner  of  a  home  anywhere  within  a  radius  of 
twenty-five  miles  of  the  City  Hall  is  to  be,  and  is, 
deeply  and  excusably  envied,  less  perhaps  for  his 
material  means  than  for  the  ever-present  consolation 
which  must  be  his,  that  he  is  not  compelled  to  move 
on  the  first  of  May.  That  is  one  of  the  dearest  and 
sweetest  privileges  of  wealth  near  the  confluence  of 
the  East  and  North  rivers;  and  they  who  do  not 
deem  it  such  cannot  long  have  dwelt  in  this  American 
babel. 

During  the  three  months  between  what  is  known 
here  as  quarter-day — Feb.  1 — and  moving  time,  I 
have  seen  amiable  and  self-disciplined  persons,  en- 
gaged in  house-hunting,  look  sullen  and  angry  as  they 
passed  the  stately  mansions  of  the  prosperous, — won- 
dering, no  doubt,  and  indignant,  that  unequal  Fortune 
had  permitted  those  to  live  in  New- York  without 
exacting  the  usual  penalty.     ''If  I  only  had  a  house," 


The  First  of  May.  87 

is  tlie  burthen  of  a  Gothamite's  prayer,  "that  I  could 
call  mine,  Wall  street  might  fluctuate,  and  the  World 
come  to  an  end  as  soon  as  it  pleases." 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  all  prosperous  citizens 
of  New  York  own  houses ;  for  it  is  quite  the  contrary. 
Many  whose  incomes  are  as  great  as  fifty  and  a  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars,  rent  and  submit  to  the  peri- 
odical nuisance  of  moving.  Why  they  do  this,  is 
among  the  enigmas  of  humanity,  since  common  sense 
and  reason  are  against  it.  But  they  do:  they  often 
rent  furnished  dwellings  at  so  extravagant  a  rate  that 
they  pay,  every  two  or  three  years,  a  sufficient  extra 
sum  to  buy  their  own  furniture.  Economy  is  not  a 
virtue  of  the  Metropolis,  and  thousands  of  its  denizens 
live  as  if  their  chief  purpose  were  to  see  how  much 
money  they  could  needlessly  squander. 

As  a  consequence,  May  moving  is  miscellaneous 
and  democratic,  confined  to  no  class,  restricted  to 
no  quarter.  The  whole  island  moves,  from  the  Bat- 
tery to  Harlem,  from  Hanover  square  to  Carmansville. 
On  the  first  of  that  month,  the  Metropolis  plays  a 
colossal  game  of  what  children  call  "  Pussy-wants- the- 
corner'';  and  the  poor  pussy  who  is  left  out  after  that 
day  is  compelled  to  move  from  town  or  into  a  hotel, 
until  another  opportunity  is  offered. 

For  two  months,  especially  for  a  few  weeks  pre- 
vious to  the  appalling  first,  New-York  is  searched  for 
houses.  Brooklyn,  Jersey  City,  Weehawken,  Hobo- 
ken,  Hudson  City,  and  all  the  suburbs  for  miles 
around,  are  explored  by  anxious  and  restless  renters. 
Women,  having  more  leisure,  more  patience,  and 
more  energy  often,  are  generally  the  Iphigenias  on 
whom  house-hunting  falls. 


88  The  Great  Metropolis. 

Poor  creatures,  their  days  and  weeks,  and  no  small 
part  of  their  lives,  are  consumed  in  the  endless  seek- 
ing. They  rise  early  and  retire  late.  They  visit 
real-estate  agencies  every  hour.  They  pore  over 
advertisements.  They  have  visions  of  houses  by  day. 
They  dream  of  houses  by  night.  They  walk,  talk, 
eat,  sleep  and  wake  with  houses.  Houses^  houses 
everywhere,  and  not  a  house  to  rent. 

"Is  it  not  pitiful, 
In  a  whole  city  fuU," 

that  shelter  can  not  be  had  for  love  or  money, — 
at  least  for  any  sum  they  can  command  ? 

Nearer  and  nearer  comes  the  dreaded  day,  and  no 
roof  for  the  family  long  notified  to  vacate.  What  can 
its  members  do?  What  will  they?  Where  shall  they 
go?  Time  waits  for  no  man.  Houses  present  them- 
selves for  no  woman.  Each  April  our  citizens  and 
the  newspapers  declare  a  large  number  of  New-York- 
ers will  have  to  go  into  the  street,  sleep  in  the  parks, 
or  move  to  the  Catskills.  But  they  do  not  some- 
how, and  hence  an  increased  faith  in  an  overruling 
Providence. 

''Everything  will  be  got  along  with,"  is  a  col- 
loquial consolation  that  all  experience  of  life  confirms. 
When  the  pressure  or  strain  is  too  great,  Nature 
yields,  and  a  space  is  made  in  the  World  by  another 
grave.  Come  weal  or  woe,  tragedy  or  comedy,  birth 
or  death,  our  Common  Mother  regards  it  not.  It  is 
all  the  same  to  her.  She  looks  calmly,  unchangingly 
on,  whether  her  children  weep  or  smile,  love  or  hate, 
rejoice  or  despair. 

For  weeks  before  the  first  every  sort  of  vehicle 
capable  of  carrying  furniture  or  household  goods  is 


The  First  of  May.  89 

engaged  to  move  the  unlucky  wights  of  the  Metropo- 
lis. That  day  is  the  carmen's  harvest,  and  they  profit 
by  it  by  advancing  their  rates  to  a  point  to  which 
nothing  but  necessity  would  submit. 

People  often  begin  for  days  before,  and  continue 
for  days  after,  the  first,  to  transfer  their  goods  and 
chattels  to  each  other's  houses.  Jones  moves  into 
Brown's  house,  and  Brown  into  Jones',  and  both  are 
dissatisfied.  Smith  and  Bobinson  exchange  dwellings, 
and  anathematize  landlords  and  wonder  what  they 
were  foolish  enough  to  do  so  for.  They  vow  they 
]iever  will  be  guilty  of  such  an  absurditv  again,  and 
they  are  not — until  next  year. 

Go  into  any  street  and  you  will  find  cars  before 
most  of  the  houses,  where  carmen  and  servants  are 
quarreling  in  choice  Celtic  about  the  proper  quantity 
of  a  load,  or  the  careless  manner  of  arranging  furni- 
ture, while  the  mistress  of  the  household  stands  on  the 
stoop,  or  in  the  window,  looking  soiled  and  frowsy, 
anxiety  in  her  face  and  a  dust-cloth  in  her  hand. 

Windows  and  doors  are  open  all  along  the  block ; 
tables,  carpets,  chairs,  bedsteads,  pier-glasses,  pictures, 
are  standing  in  the  halls,  on  the  steps,  on  the  side- 
walks, waiting  for  the  next  load.  The  houses  have  a 
generally  dismantled,  deserted,  forlorn  appearance, 
that  is  melancholy  and  oppressive.  Domestics  are 
visible  taking  down  curtains,  or  rolling  up  carpets; 
while  the  feminine  members  of  -the  household  direct, 
and  often  lend  a  helping  hand. 

In  the  tenement  quarters,  the  process  of  moving  is 
conducted  more  speedily,  because  less  carefully  and 
methodically,  and  the  poor  have  slender  appliances 
either  for  happiness  or   comfort.     Here,   all  is   con- 


90  The  Great  Metropolis. 

fusion.  The  carmen  swear,  and  the  movers  reply  in 
kind,  and  not  infrequently  a  miscellaneous  fight  arises, 
in  which  most  of  the  furniture  is  broken  by  its  con- 
version into  weapons,  offensive  and  defensive.  The 
corner  grocery  is  periodically  visited,  and  the  stimu- 
lants used  to  assist  in  the  task  of  moving  not  seldom 
prevent  the  need  of  moving,  and  necessitate  the  ser- 
vices of  the  surgeon  and  apothecary. 

How  poor  and  suffering  humanity  swarms  in  those 
tenement-houses!  One  sees  dozens  of  families  drip- 
ping darkly  out  of  dwellings  into  which  he  would  not 
suppose  so  many  could  possibly  crowd.  No  wonder 
they  want  to  go  out  of  those  unwholesome  places. 
But  they  are  going  into  others  equally  unwholesome. 
They  pass  from  dirt  to  dirt,  from  poison  to  poison, 
from  disease  to  disease,  until  at  last  Death,  like  a 
good  angel,  takes  them  away,  and  hides  them  forever 
in  the  garden  of  God. 

The  genius  loci  is  evidently  not  the  genius  of  Amer 
ica.  We  descendants  and  mixtures  of  Saxons  and 
Normans,  like  the  Romans  described  by  Livy,  carry 
our  fortunes  and  destinies  with  us.  We  have  no 
attachment  to  place.  To  us,  locality  has  no  interest 
or  sacredness. 

In  this  City,  where  all  life  is  intensified,  perhaps 
there  is  a  fitness  in  this  annual  vacation  of  abode, — 
representing  in  excess  the  American  restlessness  and 
fondness  for  change.  The  blood  of  the  old  Norse 
sea-kings  that  is  in  our  veins,  makes  the  broad  World 
our  home,  all  lands  and  scenes  our  highways  and  pas- 
ture-fields. 

Yet  is  there  something  sad  in  this  cleaving  to  noth- 
ing, this  tearing  up  of  the  heart,  so  to  speak,  before  it 


The  First  of  May.  91 

has  taken  root  anywhere.  Every  place  must  have 
associations;  every  dwelling  its  experiences  and  mem- 
ories, often  sweet,  oftener  bitter,  yet  seeming  sacred 
through  the  light  and  darkness  of  gathered  years. 

In  this  moving  from  the  spot  we  have  called  even 
for  a  year  our  home,  where,  perchance,  the  loved 
have  died,  or  more  painful  still,  love  itself  has  per- 
ished; where  the  heart  has  throbbed  with  new  joys, 
and  the  eyes  been  blinded  with  old  griefs,  there  is  a 
sorrow  that  cannot  be  all  repressed.  And  when  we 
pass  the  familiar  house,  now  filled  with  strangers,  it  is 
not  strange  a  vision  of  the  past  gleams  like  the  light 
out  of  the  windows,  and  makes  us  too  sad  for  tears. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


STREET-VENDERS. 


The  wag  who  informed  the  rustic  inquisitor  about 
the  object  of  his  visit  to  the  Metropolis  that,  if  he 
liked  the  City,  he  intended  to  buy  it,  might  well  have 
been  serious.  He  could  easily  have  purchased  the 
whole  island  and  all  it  contained,  if  he  had  only  had 
money  enough. 

The  first  impression  one  gets  of  cities,  but  partic- 
ularly of  New  York,  is, 
that  everything  in  them 
is  for  sale.  All  the  per- 
sons you  meet  seem 
bent  on  bargaining. 
All  signs,  all  faces,  all 
advertisements,  all  voic- 
es, all  outward  aspects 
of  things,  urge  you  to 
buy.  The  old  woman 
in  cheap  and  faded  rai- 
ment, who  spreads  her 
gewgaws  at  the  corner, 
is  no  more  in  the  mar- 
ket than  her  smugly- 
dressed  sister  who  rolls 
=^  by  in  a  carriage,  with 
^     her    daughter    at   her 

UMBRELLAS! 


Street  Yenders.  93 

side.  "Pay  me  my  price,"  says  every  vender,  "and 
you  shall  have  my  wares,  whether  they  be  happiness 
or  houses,  love  or  locomotives,  wives  or  wallets." 

One  would  think  the  miles  and  miles  of  stores  and 
shops  of  every  kind  would  preclude  the  need  or  pos- 
sibility of  street-venders  in  the  Metropolis.  But  those 
commercial  skirmishers  whose  mart  is  the  sidewalk, 
and  who  cover  their  heads  with  the  sky,  increase  in 
numbers  every  month.  They  are  the  Bohemians  of 
trade,  the  Bedouins  of  traffic.  Like  ^neas  after  the 
downfall  of  Troy,  they  carry  their  fates  with  them. 
All  they  ask  of  Fortune  is  clear  weather  and  a  crowd- 
ed thoroughfare.  They  do  not  advertise,  nor  manage, 
nor  manoeuvre.  They  plant  themselves  on  their  in- 
stincts, according  to  Emerson's  counsel,  and  the  World 
comes  round  to  them  every  twenty-four  hours.  No 
one  would  imagine  the  hundreds  of  street-venders 
could  live  here,  and  it  is  a  perpetual  marvel  how  they 
do.  Many  of  them  rarely  seem  to  sell  anything ;  and 
yet  the  fact  of  their  remaining  in  their  calling  proves 
that  it  is  remunerative. 

The  Broadway  venders  are  the  most  noticeable  and 
numerous.  The  curb-stone  merchants  and  lamp-post 
dealers  border  the  great  thoroughfare  from  Morris 
street  to  Thirtieth,  where  the  throng  lessens  into  a 
line.  Their  wares  are  light,  such  as  they  can  pack  up 
at  the  earliest  rain-fall,  and  retire  with  into  unseen 
haunts.  Their  stock  is  perishable,  and  the  native 
elements  are  its  enemies. 

Among  the  most  conspicuous  are  the  news  dealers, 
who  have  all  the  daily  and  weekly  journals  published 
in  the  Ctty  that  are  supposed  to  have  any  general  in- 
terest.    Newspapers  are  an  American  necessity.     A 


94  The  Great  Metropolis. 

true  American  can  dispense  with  his  breakfast  and  din- 
ner, or  regular  sleep,  but  not  with  his  newspaper.  If 
he  go  to  business  without  having  read  the  morning 
journal,  he  feels  at  a  loss.  Conscious  of  being  behind 
his  fellows,  he  avoids  them  until  he  can  get  into  a 
corner  and  devour  the  main  features  of  the  news.  Then 
he  is  armed  with  the  latest  intelligence;  has  his  opin- 
ions, his  prejudices,  his  sympathies;  is  prepared  for 
the  strife  of  the  day. 

The  news-dealer  knows  how  to  arrange  his  supplies. 
A  single  glance  takes  in  the  contents  of  his  stand. 
The  more  flashy  his  literature,  the  greater  its  display. 
The  regular  issues — Herald^  Tribune^  Times^  Worlds 
Sun^  and  the  rest — are  folded  modestly  in  a  corner ; 
so  are  the  Nation^  Round-Tahle^  Independent^  Ledger^ 
Harpers'  Frank  Leslie^ s^  and  the  better  class  of  week- 
lies. But  the  Days'  Doings^  Clipper^  Sunday  News^ 
Mercury  and  Police  Gazette  are  flammgly  arrayed,  with 
their  sensational  contents  cunningly  revealed. 

As  the  human  tide  descends,  the  heaps  of  papers 
rapidly  diminish.  There  is  no  conversation  between 
buyer  and  seller.  The  money  is  laid  down,  the  jour- 
nal taken  up,  and  the  change  given,  without  a  word. 
You  might  tell  from  the  appearance  of  the  purchaser 
what  paper  he  wanted.  This  is  a  Herald^  this  a  Tri- 
bune^ that  a  World  reader.  You  can  see  each  one's 
particular  need  in  his  face.  That  affected  person,  with 
a  slightly  finical  air,  wishes  the  Home  Journal  of  course. 
That  crimson,  sensual  face  is  searching  for  the  Bay's 
Doings  and  its  cheap  sensations.  This  low  brow  and 
hard,  cruel  eye  are  in  quest  of  the  Clipper.  This  neat- 
ly-dressed, jockey-looking  individual,  seizes*  on  the 
Spirit  of  the  Times  j   and  that  dull,  heavy  fellow  will 


Street-Yenders.  95 

have  nothing  but  the  Police  Gazette  and  its  hideous 
array  of  revolting  crimes. 

Flower  merchants,  usually  girls  and  women,  are  the 
neighbors  of  all  the  hotels  seven  or  eight  months  in 
the  year.  Their  bouquets  are  pretty  and  cheap,  but  ill- 
arranged  ;  and  that  they  sell  so  many  shows  a  love  of 
the  poetic  and  beautiful  which  money-getting  cannot 
suppress.  No  city  in  the  World  has  so  many  flower- 
buyers  as  New-York.  Half  Broadway  wears  them  in 
its  button-hole,  and  the  other  half  gets  them  to  illus- 
trate the  relation  between  women  and  flowers;  for 
men  who  purchase  often,  purchase  for  a  feminine  mar- 
ket, you  may  be  sure. 

Here  is  the  new-made  husband.  Every  afternoon 
he  carries  a  bouquet  to  his  young  wife,  whose  heart  is 
in  her  ear  while  she  waits  for  his  coming.  But  it  will 
not  last  long.  When  the  honeymoon  is  over, — and  it 
is  sadly  brief  in  most  cases, — no  more  flowers,  no  more 
watching  eyes,  no  more  bounding  hearts. 

Here  is  the  husband  of  ten  years,  the  father  of  a 
little  family.  He  buys  flowers  still,  and  for  one  he 
loves,  but  not  his  spouse.  Passion,  not  sympathy, 
united  him  and  his  wife.  Passion  sated,  the  bond  was 
severed,  and  a  new  affinity  was  found.  The  wife  sleeps 
soundly  while  he  lies  in  a  rival's  arms.  She  suffers  not 
from  jealousy  or  neglect;  for  she  also  is  cured,  and 
smiles  at  disloyalty  which  may  one  day  be  hers  as 
well. 

If  we  could  trace  the  course  of  the  flowers,  it  would 
be  interesting.  They  go  to  sweet  faces  and  soft  bow- 
ers, are  kissed  by  warm  lips,  and  breathed  upon  by 
balmy  breaths.  They  stand  to  many  women  for  the 
love  they  feel,  and  which  prompted  their  giving.  They 


96  The  Great  Metropolis. 

are  treasured  while  the j  last,  and  regretfully  thrown 
away.  They  are  talked  to  in  the  silence  of  the  night, 
and  told  dear  secrets  their  bestowers  do  not  share. 
The  history  of  flowers  is  the  history  of  hearts.  Beauti- 
ful in  their  freshness  and  blossoming,  they  wither  all 
too  soon,  and  when  withered  are  forgotten  and  thrust 
aside. 

The  flower-merchants  are  no  more  like  their  wares 
than  musicians  are  like  music.  They  see  no  special 
beauty  in  the  blossoms.  Neither  color  nor  fragrance 
appeals  to  them.  The  flowers  represent  food  and 
shelter  only.  The  hard  necessities  of  life  leave  no 
space  for  the  culture  of  the  ideal. 

The  toy-sellers  are  objects  alike  of  contempt  and 
wonder.  There  they  stand,  stalwart,  healthy  men,  all 
the  day  long,  blowing  whistles  or  trumpets,  handling 
scarlet  balloons,  jerking  wooden  figures,  spinning  tops 
on  plates,  twirling  paper  wheels,  and  crying  in  a  deep, 
guttural  tone,  "All  alive,  all  alive;  only  ten  cents; 
beautiful  invention;  who  would  be  without  one?" 
They  must  know  New-Yorkers  to  be  the  children  that 
they  are.  How  otherwise  could  they  expect  to  sell 
such  gimcracks  to  adults?  The  crowd  sweeps  up  and 
sweeps  down.  No  one  seems  to  heed  the  peddlers  of 
trifles,  much  less  to  buy.  And  yet  they  must  have  cus- 
tomers; for  they  are  there  to-morrow,  and  next  week, 
and  next  year,  neither  emaciated,  nor  despondent,  nor 
doubtful  of  their  dignity. 

It  is  marvelous  they  can  rest  content  with  such  a 
life.  They  do  not  blush,  nor  stammer,  nor  apologize. 
They  look  boldly  at  the  open  day,  and  bellow  like 
giants  over  their  baubles.  One  would  think  it  harder 
than  cracking  stone  on  the  highway,  drearier  than  con- 


Street-Venders.  97 

finement  on  BlackwelFs  island,  darker  than  the  shadow 
of  the  Morgue.  But  perhaps  it  is  their  place  in  the 
World.  Some  men  are  born  to  shape  events,  and  oth- 
ers to  sell  toys. 

Dog  and  bird-fanciers  are  common  in  Broadway  and 
elsewhere.  They  are  foreigners  usually,  as  are  most 
of  the  street-venders,  and  have  a  patient,  stolid  and 
unexpectant  look.  They  ask  no  one  to  purchase ;  but 
they  stand  in  the  sunshine,  with  puppies  in  their  arms, 
and  cages  in  their  hands,  as  if  trusting  to  the  instincts 
of  the  dumb  creatures  for  appeal.  I  have  seen  kind- 
hearted  men  glance  at  the  gentle  eyes  of  the  dogs  and 
the  hard  faces  of  their  keepers,  and  buy  out  of  sym- 
pathy and  pity.  The  birds  appear  happier  than  their 
holders.  They  flit  about  and  sing,  and  yet  seem 
grateful  when  they  are  sold,  as  southern  slaves  were 
wont  to  do  when  they  passed  from  the  ownership  of  a 
hard  master. 

Women  are  usually  the  customers  of  that  class. 
They  are  always  wanting  pets,  and  they  will  get  them 
with  money  if  they  come  not  of  themselves.  The 
feathered  bipeds  are  quicker  of  sale  than  the  stouter 
quadrupeds,  and  often  exchange  the  open  street  for 
dingy  rooms  and  upper  attics,  where  they  forget  their 
song  and  perish  from  neglect. 

The  Chinese,  who  deal  in  candy  and  cigars,  are 
conspicuous  among  the  street-venders.  They  have  a 
strangely  lonely,  forlorn,  dejected  air.  They  rarely 
smile.  They  are  the  embodiments  of  painful  resigna- 
tion, and  the  types  of  a  civilization  that  never  moves. 
Their  dark,  hopeless  eyes,  their  sad  faces,  high  cheek- 
bones, square,  protuberant  foreheads,  remind  you  of 
melancholy  visages  cut  in  stone.      They  sell  cheaply. 


98  The  Great  Metropolis. 

and  their  profit  is  in  pennies.  They  live  by  what  an 
American  would  starve  upon;  for  they  are  the  most 
saving  and  economical  of  their  kind.  The  closest  Ger- 
mans are  spendthrifts  to  them.  They  have  no  care  for 
comforts,  or  cleanliness  even.  They  occupy  garrets  or 
cellars  in  Park  or  Baxter  streets,  and  dawdle  their  way 
through  meanness,  and  filth,  and  isolation,  to  an  un- 
bought  grave. 

Miscellaneous  wares,  such  as  cravats,  suspenders,  to- 
bacco, nuts,  fruits,  cheap  jewelry,  are  disposed  of  by 
the  peripatetic  school.  Its  members  have  no  stand.  They 
roam  up  and  down  Broadway,  and,  with  an  instinct  of 
physiognomy,  detect  the  appetites  and  requirements 
of  passers-by.  Men,  women  and  children  lead  that 
life.  There  are  scores  of  them;  and  they  all  subsist 
somehow,  though  their  entire  stock,  sold  at  the  max- 
imum rate,  would  not  pay  for  a  day's  board  at  a  Broad- 
way hotel.  They  are  satisfied  with  their  slender  gains, 
apparently.  They  look  calm  and  contented,  compared 
to-  the  prosperous  ones  who  hurry  anxiously  and  nerv- 
ously along.  They  adapt  themselves  to  their  condi- 
tions, and,  expecting  little,  get  it,  and  are  not  disap- 
pointed. 

The  old-clothes  hawkers  do  not  frequent  the  better 
portions  of  the  town.  They  go  where  their  cast-off" 
garments  will  find  a  sale.  They  carry  sacks,  and  cry 
in  an  unintelligible  way  their  second  and  third-hand 
wares.  They  are  ever  ready  for  a  trade.  They  will 
exchange  an  old  hat  for  a  broken  pair  of  boots,  a  one- 
armed  coat  for  threadbare  pantaloons,  and  see  a  bar- 
gain where  there  are  merely  rags.  Whether  they  have 
hats,  or  shoes,  or  gowns,  or  bonnets,  for  they  vend  the 


CHINESE  CANDY  DEALER. 


Street-Venders.  99 

attii-e  of  both  sexes,  they  announce  then-  goods  in  the 
same  tone,  and  in  the  same  unintelligible  syllables. 

Who  are  their  customers?  Thompson,  Greene,  Mul- 
berry, James  and  Cherry  streets,  much  of  the  Fourth 
and  Sixth  wards,  part  of  the  Eighteenth,  Mackerelville, 
Corlear's  Hook, — three-quarters,  perhaps,  of  the  whole 
Metropolis. 

Park  Row  and  the  Bowery  are  favorite  localities  for 
street-venders  of  the  cheapest  sort.  They  offer  every 
kind  of  low-priced  article,  from  a  dog-eared  volume  to 
a  decayed  peanut.  They  furnish  impromptu  dinners 
and  breakfasts  for  a  shilling;  prepare  oyster-stews 
while  you  take  out  your  pocket-book,  and  bake  waffles 
while  you  determine  the  time  of  day.  They  dispose' 
of  frozen  custards  and  sour  milk,  sweetened,  for  ice- 
cream; soda-water  without  gas;  lemonade  without 
lemons ;  songs  without  sentiment ;  jokes  without  point ; 
cigars  innocent  of  tobacco,  and  all  manner  of  shams, 
making  sales  profitable  by  niggardliness. 

Indeed,  those  quarters  are  the  best  adapted  for 
street-v^iders,  who  in  Broadway  rarely  find  purchasers 
except  among  strangers  and  the  transient  class  that 
believe  they  must  buy  s©mething  when  they  come  to 
the  Babel  of  Manhattan. 


CHAPTER  X. 
THE     FERRIES. 

About  twenty-five  ferries  connect  New  York  with 
its  surrounding  cities  and  towns,  which  are  divisions 
of  the  MetropoHs  as  much  as  Harlem,  Yorkville,  or 
Carmansville.  Nearly  half  a  million  of  people  whom 
Manhattan  holds,  and  makes  life  and  fortune  for, 
dwell  within  a  radius  of  five  miles  from  Printing 
House  Square  as  a  center.  The  fifteen  or  sixteen 
towns  clustering  along  the  Bay  and  around  the  North 
and  East  rivers,  are  merely  the  human  overflow  of 
New  York's  inundation. 

Brooklyn,  never  thought  of  here,  apart  from  the 
Metropolis,  has  a  population  of  300,000,  and  is  the 
third  city  in  the  United  States.  Jersey  City,  Hobo- 
ken,  Hudson  City,  Bergen,  are  good-sized  towns ;  but 
they  have  no  distinct  existence.  They  are  absorbed 
by  the  great  Centripetal  power  of  Gotham. 

Of  the  ferries  nine  are  to  Brooklyn,  from  Catharine 
Slip,  foot  of  Fulton,  Wall,  Jackson,  Whitehall,  New 
Chambers,  Roosevelt,  East  Houston  and  Grand  streets ; 
two  to  Hoboken,  foot  of  Barclay  and  Christopher 
streets;  two  to  Jersey  City,  foot  of  Courtlandt  and 
Desbrasses  streets ;  two  to  Hunter's  Point,  from  James 
slip  and  foot  of  East  Thirty-fourth  street;  two  to 
Staten  Island,  foot  of  Whitehall  and  Dey  streets ;  two 
to  Green  Point,  foot  of  East  Tenth  and  East  Twenty- 


The  Ferries.  101 

third  streets ;  Hamilton  avenue  ferry,,  foot  of  White- 
hall street ;  Bull's  Ferry  and  Fort  Lee,  pier  51  North 
river;  Mott  Haven,  pier  24  East  river;  Pavonia,  foot 
of  Chambers  street,  and  Weehawken,  foot  of  West 
Forty-second  street. 

The  most  crowded  are  the  Fulton,  Wall  and  South 
ferries  to  Brooklyn,  and  the  Courtlandt  street  to  Jer- 
sey-City ;  though  all  of  them  do  a  very  profitable  busi- 
ness, and  consider  their  privilege,  or  right,  better  than 
exclusive  ownership  in  a  mine  of  gold.  They  do  not 
say  so  openly;  for  all  corporations  that  make  large 
sums  of  money  put  forward  the  assumption  of  benefit- 
ing the  public  for  a  very  small  consideration. 

It  is  singular  how  disinterested  monopolies  are.  In- 
stead of  confessing  that  they  have  no  souls,  they  de- 
•  clare  they  are  all  soul.  They  are  the  embodiment  of 
generosity,  chivalry,  self-sacrifice.  Their  controllers 
exist  only  for  the  people.  They  suffer  to  serve  the 
masses.  They  shed  tears  of  blood  when  the  dear 
public  is  not  pleased  with  their  magnanimous  labors. 
They  sympathize  with  it,  with  full  stomachs  and  fuller 
purses. 

Half  a  million  of  people  living  outside  of,  and  most 
of  them  doing  or  having  business  in,  New-York,  make 
the  ferries  the  sole  means  of  communication  with  the 
island.  It  is  not  difficult  to  perceive  that  the  different 
companies  must  realize  handsomely  from  their  invest- 
ments. It  is  calculated  that  250,000  to  300,000  per- 
sons come  and  go  upon  the  ferries  every  24  hours,  and 
that  they  make  a  clear  profit  of  about  $1,000,000  per 
annum. 

The  fare  to  Brooklyn  is  two  cents ;  to  Jersey- City, 
Iloboken  and  Weehawken,  three ;  to  Staten-Island,  ten 


102  The  Great  Metropolis. 

and  twelve  cents ;  and  to  other  points,  in  proportion 
to  distance.  The  rate  is  low,  but  the  aggregate  re- 
ceipts swell  to  tempting  sums  in  the  course  of  a  season. 

About  4  o'clock  the  ferries  begin  their  regular  trips, 
though  some  of  them,  as  the  Fulton  and  Courtlandt 
and  Barclay  streets,  run  all  night,  and  their  passengers 
increase  until  9  or  10  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Then  they 
fall  off  until  3,  or  4,  or  5  in  the  afternoon,  when  the 
refluent  tide  sets  in. 

People  generally  rise  accordhig  to  their  necessities. 
The  poorer  the  man  the  earlier  he  gets  up.  To  lie  in 
bed  is  one  of  the  privileges  of  wealth.  The  operator 
who  saunters  leisurely  into  Broad  street  at  noon  is  be- 
lieved to  have  been  fortunate  in  his  speculationSj  and 
can  borrow  money  at  a  lower  figure  than  if  he  became 
visible  at  10.  But  the  wight  that  hustles  about  Ex-* 
change  place  at  9  o'clock  is  regarded  with  distrust, 
and  his  broker  calls  in  the  loans  made  to  him  unhesi- 
tatingly the  week  before. 

When  the  coming  dawn  drops  her  gray  mantle  over 
the  mists  of  the  rivers,  the  gardeners  and  farmers,  from 
Long-Island  and  New-Jersey,  drive  their  carts  and 
wagons,  loaded  with  fruits  and  vegetables  and  farm 
products,  upon  the  ferries,  and  wend  their  way  to 
Fulton,  Washington,  Catharine,  Essex,  Jefferson  and 
Tompkins  markets.  Many  of  them  are  Germans,  par- 
ticularly the  gardeners, — patient,  thrifty,  plodding, 
ever  on  the  alert  to  catch  the  worm  that  creeps  where 
pennies  are  to  be  gathered.  They  are  accompanied 
by  their  wives,  or  mothers,  or  sisters,  or  daughters. 
Women  from  fatherland  work  side  by  side  with  the 
men,  and  look  anxiously  at  the  sky  to  see  if  the 
weather  promises  fair,  for  storms  seriously  affect  sales, 


The  Ferries.  103 

and  therefore  disturb  the  Teutonic  heart.  In  two  hours 
the  ferries  are  freighted  with  market  wares.  Then 
they  carry  over  a  few  belated  venders,  who  look  vexed 
and  sour  because  of  their  own  delay,  and  are  inclined 
to  vent  their  feelings  upon  others,  while  the  odor  of 
fruits  and  vegetables  is  blown  away  by  the  sea  breeze. 

Farmers  and  hucksters  are  succeeded  by  a  throng 
of  mechanics  with  their  flannel  and  check  shirts,  with 
buckets  and  begrimed  appearance — many  of  them 
going  from  their  tenement-house  homes  in  the  Great 
City  to  the  grim  factories  trembling  and  throbbing 
along  the  half-awakened  rivers. 

Occupation  is  healthful,  but  toil  is  unwholesome ; 
and  the  daily  hard  tasks  that  cannot  be  lessened  or 
deferred  leave  their  marks  upon  those  overworked 
men.  They  are  not  satisfied  with  their  lot.  Why 
should  they  be  ?  Why  should  they  be  enslaved  for  a 
mere  livelihood,  for  the  privilege  of  continuing  an 
existence  they  have  neither  the  leisure  nor  the  means 
to  enjoy? 

Six  days  in  every  week  it  is  the  same — ten  hours 
of  toil,  engrossing  and  consuming  toil,  when  they  in 
no  sense  belong  to  themselves, — the  dragging  home 
of  their  tired  bodies,  heavy  and  often  unrefresh- 
ing  sleep,  and  the  compulsory  return  to  the  hateful 
labor  which  yields  them  only  bread.  Even  their 
wives  and  children  are  sources  of  anxiety  as  much  as 
of  comfort ;  for  they  can  see  no  period,  however  re- 
mote, when  freedom  and  ease  will  be  theirs. 

They  are  honest  and  industrious,  and  ought  to  be 
happy,  no  doubt.  But  I  question  if  they  are.  I 
know  I  could  hot  be,  if  I  were  they.  They  do  not 
give  the  impression  of  supreme  felicity,  but  rather  of 


104  The  Great  Metropolis. 

men  who  have  duties  to  perform  for  others,  and  who 
would  be  glad  when  they  could  lie  down  and  sleep 
forever. 

Until  7  o'clock  the  stream  to  the  factories  in  the 
great  and  small  cities  flows  turbidly.  Then  it  stops, 
and  the  shirts  of  passengers  begin  to  whiten  and  rai- 
ment to  improve. 

The  mechanics  are  followed  by  salesmen,  account- 
ants, clerks,  most  of  whom  are  young  and  seem  hope- 
ful. Life  is  before  them  yet,  and  this  World  has  not 
been  shorn  of  its  illusions.  They  have  views  of  finan- 
cial success,  of  partnership,  of  high  reputation  on 
'Change^  of  princely  incomes.  They  talk  glibly  of 
"our  firm,"  its  prospects, its  trade,  its  profits,  and  deem 
themselves  fortunate  in  their  positions.  They  are 
learned  in  their  vocation,  and  business  is  the  spirit  of 
their  being. 

Occasionally  you  observe  among  them  an  older  and 
a  wiser  head.  'He  is  alert,  but  listens  and  looks,  and 
smiles  half  sadly,  half  satirically.  He  once  had  ambi- 
tious ex]3ectations ;  fed  himself  on  the  sweet  fruit  of 
his  own  imagining,  and  wrought  at  the  shadows  until 
they  seemed  substance.  His  ambition  was  filled;  his 
expectations  deceived  him. 

At  ^ye  and  fifty  he  is  a  clerk  still,  with  a  large 
family,  and  $1,200  a  year.  A  perpetual  struggle  his 
life  has  been,  with  little  compensation  in  it.  He  has 
been  told  by  clergymen,  and  journalists,  and  authors, 
since  he  could  understand  English,  that  honest  in- 
dustry is  always  ultimately  rewarded.  His  reward  is 
two  sick  children,  an  invalid  wife  and  debts  that 
torture  him  because  he  cannot  discharge  them.  He 
has  found    that    integrity  brings    curses    more    than 


The  Ferries.  105 

blessings.  He  might  have  been  wealthy  but  for  devo- 
tion to  principle.  Successful  merch-ants  deem  him  a 
simpleton.  He  does  not  share  their  opinion;  but  he 
knows  he  is  wretched. 

When  the  expectant  underlings  have  been  trans- 
ferred to  the  Babylon  which  is  now  rattling,  and 
smoking,  and  steaming,  and  roaring,  their  superiors 
come  upon  the  scene.  They  are  rather  grave,  but 
they  have  a  self-satisfied  air,  like  men  who  have 
striven  and  won.  They  are  middle  -  aged,  mostly. 
They  have  incipient  crow's-feet  about  their  eyes,  wrin- 
kles at  the  corners  of  their  mouth,  flecks  of  grayness 
in  their  hair.  They  are  confidential  clerks,  with  sala- 
ries of  five  or  six,  perhaps  ten  thousand  a  year,  in  the 
great  houses  in  Church  street  or  West  Broadway,  or 
special  partners  or  leading  salesmen,  with  a  percentage 
on  profits.  They  are  in  comfortable  circumstances. 
They  have  incomes  independent  of  their  positions. 
They  can  afford  to  think  of  others,  and  grinding  pov- 
erty does  not  compel  them  to  be  mean.  Externals 
appear  well  to  them.  They  feel  the  sunshine,  even  if 
the  heavens  be  overcast,  and  the  air  is  sweet,  though 
it  comes  from  New-York. 

The  masters  rarely  flash  upon  the  sphere  before  11 
or  12;  but  they  tread  almost  on  the  heels  of  those 
only  a  little  less  than  themselves.  They  are  truly  of 
the  fortunate  in  the  worldly  sense.  They  are  the 
senior  members  of  the  prosperous  firms ;  the  men  who 
have  much  to  get  and  little  to  do  ;  who  walk  or  ride 
over  to  their  counting-room;  superintend  and  give 
council  for  an  hour  or  two ;  lunch  at  Delmonico's, 
and  over  a  bottle  of  Chambertin,  or  Cote  d'Or,  discuss 
with  their  wealthy  rivals  the  effect  of  the   trade  of 


106  The  Great  Metropolis. 

Japan  upon  the  United-States.  They  should  be  con- 
tented and  satisfied,  at  least  in  money  matters.  But 
they  are  not.  They  are  more  anxious  to  increase 
their  fortune,  though  their  present  income  is  far  be- 
yond their  largest  expenditures,  than  they  were  when 
it  was  below  a  hundred  thousand.  They  have  physi- 
cal ailments  and  domestic  infelicities  which  they  would 
get  rid  of  at  the  price  of  all  their  5.20s.  When  the 
gout  twinges,  and  their  brain  reels  with  presaging 
apoplexy,  they  wonder  why  their  riches  can't  preserve 
them  from  such  attacks,  and  fancy  they  would  surren- 
der fortune  for  youth  and  health.  But  they  would 
not.  The  loss  of  what  they  would  never  need  would 
drive  them  half  mad;  for  the  masters  are  the  slaves  of 
Mammon  and  servants  of  self-interest. 

If  they  poured  out  their  secret  sorrows,  perhaps  we 
would  not  exchange  our  poverty  for  their  great  gains. 
But  we  all  have  secret  sorrows,  and  they  are  easier  to 
bear  with  plethoric  purses  than  empty  ones;  for,  say 
what  we  may,  the  heart  aches  less  on  a  satin  sofa  than  on 
a  pallet  of  straw.  And  Araminta's  arms  are  fairer  when 
luxuriously  indolent  and  spanned  with  diamonds  than 
when  bared  to  the  drudgery  of  the  kitchen.  And  Amy's 
kisses  sweeter  from  her  poetry-pronouncing  lips  than 
if  they  were  drawn  down  habitually  from  lowness  of 
spirit  and  abject  circumstance. 

David  Ducat,  Sr.,  president  of  the  Sapphire  bank, 
and  founder  of  the  great  importing  house  of  Ducat, 
Doubloon  &  Co.,  is  sorely  distressed  because  David,  Jr., 
is  drinking  himself  to  death,  and  his  dearest  daughter 
Julia  will  meet  that  profligate  verse-maker  clandes- 
tinely. But  he  need  not  be  inconsolable.  He  has  a 
family  lot  in  Greenwood,  and,  if  harm  come  to  Julia, 


The  Ferries.  107 

tlie  scamp  will  marry  her,  for  she  is  one  of  only  three 
children.  On  the  whole,  things  might  be  worse;  and 
the  credit  of  the  house  never  stood  better. 

One  tribe  goes  early  to  the  ferries  from  this  side,  and 
line:ers  until  the  solid  men  have  descended  to  the 
piers — the  tribe  of  newsboys.  They  rush  frantically 
down  to  the  ferry-houses  before  the  first  arrow  of  light 
is  shot  across  the  sky,  and  fill  the  fresh  morning  with 
clamor  about  the  Times^  Tribune^  Herald^  World  and 
Sun. 

The  first  comers  generally  want  the  ^^Staats  Zeitimg^^ 
or  '■^  Journar^  or  ^^  DemoJcrat^'^  though  a  number  buy 
the  Sun^'  some  the  Herald  and  World.  The  second- 
class  have  no  eye  for  any  other  paper  than  the  Sun.^ 
laud  the  quartos  as  the  urchins  may.  But  when  the 
original  sun  flames  up  the  east,  and  burns  down  upon 
the  waters,  the  neglected  large  dailies  grow  into  favor. 
Even  the  Times  and  Tribune.^  which  were  dull  stock  at 
first,  find  ready  purchasers  from  well-dressed  and 
thoughtful-looking  men.  One  division  of  the  news- 
boys keeps  guard  upon  the  boats,  permitting  no  one 
to  pass  without  yelling  in  his  ears  the  news  of  the 
morning.  Other  divisions  deploy  as  skirmishers,  and 
dash  through  Brooklyn,  Jersey-City,  Hoboken,  Asto- 
ria, Bavenswood,  East  New-York;  board  the  morning 
trains;  hurry  into  every  nook  and  corner  and  lonely 
street  of  the  surrounding  towns  and  villages,  and  sell 
out  before  the  leisurely  part  of  the  Metropolis  has  stir- 
red in  its  bed. 

The  refluent  wave  rises  about  3  P.  M.,  and  it  washes 
and  surges  for  four  or  five  hours  far  more  than  the 
advancing  swell  of  the  morning.  One  would  suppose, 
if  he  took  his  stand  at  the  different  ferry-houses,  that 


108  The  Great  Metropolis. 

New-York  was  emptying  itself  before  a  devastating 
plague.  Down  Broadway  to  Wall  and  Fulton,  to 
Whitehall  and  Courtlandt  streets,  sweeps  the  mob  of 
home-seekers,  reckless  of  vehicles,  careless  of  each 
other,  driven  bj  one  idea — that  of  reaching  their  des- 
tination in  the  shortest  possible  time. 

In  that  rush  all  classes  are  mingled,  lawyers  and  la- 
dies, physicians  and  clergymen,  merchants  and  beg- 
gars, pickpockets  and  philanthropists,  authors  and  prize- 
fighters, bar -keepers  and  artists,  courtesans  and  prudes, 
zealots  and  atheists,  side  by  side,  intertwisted,  inter- 
locked, brushing  each  other's  garments,  breathing  each 
other's  breaths.  The  ferries  are  black  with  people, 
and  ultra  professional  reporters  in  the  throng  think 
what  a  magnificent  sensation  they  might  wrfte  out  if 
the  boats  would  blow  up  or  sink  suddenly. 

Long  before  the  vessel  touches  the  pier  boys  and 
men  measure  the  distance  with  their  eyes,  and  leap 
off  at  serious  risk  to  themselves.  When  the  chain  is 
thrown  down  half  the  masculine  passengers  are  out  of 
sight,  and  no  one  is  hurt.  We  Americans  are  an  agile 
and  carefully  calculating  people,  after  all.  If  any 
other  nation  were  as  reckless  as  we,  it  would  have  dis- 
tressing accidents  by  the  dozen  every  day  in  the  year. 
We  seem  to  know  what  we  can  do,  and  do  it.  We 
are  born  to  narrow  escapes,  but  we  rarely  fail. 

In  the  evening  we  have  from  over  the  river  the 
amusement-goers,  and  later,  their  return;  and  the 
boats  are  full  until  11  or  12  o'clock.  At  the  latter  hour 
the  ferries  stop  generally,  though,  as  I  have  said,  the 
Fulton,  Courtlandt  and  Barclay  street  boats  run  at 
stated  intervals  all  night.  The  passengers  are  few 
after  the  nocturnal  noon,  and  at  the  weird  hours  that 


The  Ferries. 


109 


precede  the  dawn  the  few  who  cross  the  rivers  regard 
each  other  with  suspicion.  Journalists  imagine  ex- 
hausted printers  from  the  same  office  to  be  highwaymen ; 
and  printers  fancy  the  man  whose  "copy"  they  have 
set  a  thousand  times  a  moon-struck  fellow,  waiting  for 
a  favorable  moment  to  leap  overboard. 

The  ferries  furnish  good  studies  of  human  nature. 
He  Vv^ho  likes  to  read  character,  and  trace  personal  his- 
tory from  outlines  of  suggestion  may  find  occupation 
and  interest  on  the  rivers  and  the  bay  at  all  hours  and 
all  seasons.  Ever/  kind  of  people  will  sit  before  his 
mental  pallet,  and  unconsciously  resign  themselves  to 
his  rambling  brush. 


FORT  LAFAYETTE.— BURNED  DEC.  1868. 


CHAPTER    XI. 
GREENWOOD. 

Greenwood  is  one  of  the  first  places  strangers  visit. 
New  Yorkers  are  more  indifferent  about  the  famous 
cemetery,  because,  perhaps,  they  know  they  are  certain 
to  go  there  soon  or  late.  They  have  reason  to  be 
proud  of  it,  however  •  for  it  deserves  its  reputation, 
and  is  a  charming  place  in  which  to  sleep  eternity 
away. 

It  is  both  poetic  and  philosophic  to  make  pleasant 
the  last  resting-place ;  to  rob  death  of  its  thousand 
nameless  terrors  and  give  it  the  appearance  of  an 
unbroken  calm  of  the  emancipated  spirit, — the  taking 
home  to  the  bosom  of  Nature  and  her  silent  sympathy 
the  souls  that  have  been  o'er  wearied  in  the  struggle 
with  life. 

Graveyards  may  be  sad ;  but  there  is  a  sweetness  in 
their  sadness,  and  the  deep  suggestions  of  infinite  rest, 
which  the  lightest  heart,  in  the  midst  of  its  highest 
happiness,  forever  craves.  There  is  balm  for  many 
wounds  in  the  strolling  among  low  mounds,  and  the 
listening  to  the  airy  voices  that  are  ever  whispering 
of  peace. 

A  gay  Gaul  who  made  a  visit  to  New  York  some 
years  ago,  thought  it  singular  enough  that  the  hack- 
man  he  askefl  to  drive  to  the  pleasantest  places  in  the 
vicinity  should  carry  him  to  what  he  called  the  Pere 


Greenwood.  Ill 

la  Chaise  of  America.  "  Strange  people,  these  Amer- 
icans," he  reflected;   "they  think  death  delightful." 

The  hackman's  nature  was  deeper  than  the  French- 
man's. The  one  was  a  worldling,  the  other  a  philoso- 
pher, and  a  man  of  taste  as  well ;  for  Greenwood  is, 
excepting  the  Park,  the  pleasantest  place  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  Metropolis. 

Just  about  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago.  Greenwood, 
containing  over  500  acres  of  beautiful,  rolling  and  va- 
ried land,  was  opened  for  burial  purposes ;  and  since 
then  it  has  been  steadily  increasing  in  attractiveness 
and  picturesqueness  of  effect.  During  that  period, 
nearly  140,000  persons  have  been  interred  there,  and 
many  of  the  finest  specimens  of  art  which  the  country 
can  show,  have  been  ereoted  as  monuments  to  the 
memory  of  the  dead.  Yanity,  the  strongest  passion 
of  humanity,  not  only  lives  beyond,  but  rears  itself  in 
fantastic  marble  above,  the  tomb.  Many  of  the  mon- 
uments have  cost  from  $10,000  to  $100,000;  and 
marble  and  truth  have  been  tortured  to  transform  the 
vices  of  the  living  into  the  virtues  of  the  dead. 

A  ramble  or  a  ride  through  Greenwood  is  delight- 
ful, especially  in  Spring,  when  the  earth  has  put  on  its 
fresh  greenness,  and  the  flowers  are  in  their  first  blos- 
soming, or  late  in  Autumn,  when  vegetation  is  dying 
in  prismatic  beauty,  and  the  brown  and  crimson  leaves 
are  floating  off  to  the  calling  of  the  sea.  Its  walks 
and  drives,  and  lakes  and  groves,  with  the  distant 
view  of  the  Island  City,  the  beautiful  Bay,  and  the 
ocean  stretching  away  into  cloud  and  shy,  form  a  pan- 
orama hardly  equaled  on  the  Continent. 

No  wonder  it  is  a  popular  place  of  resort.  No  one 
sensible  to  beauty  or  the  charms  of  Nature,  can  fail  to 


112  The  Great  Metropolis. 

experience  a  joy  of  vision  as  his  eye  sweeps  for  miles 
around,  over  land  and  river,  over  sound  and  sea; 
catches  the  far-off  spires,  the  highland^  of  Staten 
Island,  the  Palisades  of  the  Hudson,  the  forests  of 
masts  among  which  Manhattan  is  buried,  and  the  count- 
less water-craft  steaming  and  sailing  in  every  direction 
from  the  vast  centre  of  commerce  to  every  port  and 
clime  beneath  the  sun. 

No  other  cemetery  at  home  or  abroad — and  Europe 
boasts  much  of  some  of  hers — has  such  advantages  of 
position,  such  variety  of  prospect,  such  richness  of 
ocular  effect. 

I  am  not  surprised  so  many  sentimentalists  go  to 
Greenwood  to  idealize  Love,  and  Life,  and  Death,  and 
seek  the  realization  of  all  poetry  in  their  own  hearts. 
I  rarely  visit  the  place  that  I  do  not  meet  the  loving 
and  the  loved  wandering  pensively  and  sympathetically 
through  the  pleasant  walks,  or  sitting  magnetically 
together,  discoursing  in  low  voices  of  the  mystic 
thing  which  makes  the  World  go  round.  The  quiet- 
ness and  pensiveness  of  the  place  suggest  the  fiercely- 
tender  passion,  which  is  always  sad,  and  render  the 
heart  dangerously  susceptible  to  its  mysterious  prompt- 
ings. 

If  you  seek,  good  reader,  the  love  of  a  fine  woman, 
who  has  thus  far  been  unwon,  invite  her  to  Greenwood, 
and,  in  the  presence  of  the  dead,  and  while  the  hand 
of  Autumn  is  shaking  down  the  variegated  leaves,  tell 
her  you  are  wretched ;  that  only  through  the  light  of 
her  eyes  comes  hope ;  that  you  have  longed  for  years 
to  be  at  rest  in  the  grave,  but  that  love  for  her  has 
given  you  new  life ;  that  the  World  cannot  be  hollow 
which  contains  her — with  other  kindred  sentimental- 


Greenwood.  113 

isms — and,  trust  me,  you  will  find  her  hand  stealing  to 
yours,  the  tears  to  her  eyes,  and  her  head  to  your 
heart.       , 

That  will  open  the  door  to  her  hard  bosom,  and  jov 
can  enter  it  unchallenged,  and  sit  thereafter,  long  as 
you  please,  upon  the  throne  of  her  self-love,  in  the  high 
court  of  her  self-admiration. 

''  Carry  not  your  melancholy  and  your  wooing  too 
far,"  says  a  cynic  at  my  elbow.  "I  knew  a  persever- 
ing gentleman  who  did  so,  and  the  result  was,  his 
charmer  became  his  wife,  and  charmed  no  more." 

If  Wall  street  owned  Greenwood,  it  would  daily 
quote  graves  in  demand,  funerals  active  and  death 
easy.  It  rarely  happens  the  cemetery  is  without  a 
funeral  cortege,  and  at  least  a  score  of  laborers  are  ever 
opening  graves. 

The  tears  of  affliction  are  always  falling ;  the  sob  of 
bereavement  is  always  heard;  the  wail  of  stricken 
hearts  is  always  rising  there.  And  yet,  nowhere  does 
the  sunlight  fall  more  softly;  the  birds  sing  more 
sweetly ;  the  flowers  smell  more  fragrantly.  They  are 
wiser  than  we  purblind  mortals :  they  see  beyond,  and 
know  the  whole. 

From  15  to  20  interments  are  daily  made  in  Green- 
wood ;  and  already  a  number  nearly  equaling  the  en- 
tire population  of  some  of  our  largest  cities  lies  under 
the  soil,  sacred  forevermore  in  at  least  1,000,000  mourn- 
ers' eyes, — eyes  which  may  be  dry  to-day,  but  will  be 
wet  again  to-morrow. 

A  dark  train  is  always  passing  over  those  green  un- 
dulations; and  the  laughing  sight-seers  are  hushed 
when,  at  the  sudden  turn  of  the  walk,  they  come  upon 
weeping  friends  about  a  new-dug  grave. 


114  The  Great  Metropolis. 

Many  a  pair  of  the  wandering  sentimentalists  I  have 
named  have  forgotten  for  the  moment  their  fancied 
woe  while  they  heard  the  earth  fall  hollowly  upon  the 
coffin-lid  which  shuts  out  forever  and  forever  the  face 
that  was  dearest  in  all  the  World. 

How  use  doth  breed  a  habit  in  a  man!  The  gate- 
keepers, grave-diggers,  undertakers,  hearse-drivers,  see 
in  the  agony  of  the  bereaved  only  a  phase  of  nature, 
as  they  do  the  clouds  in  the  sky,  or  withering  leaves 
on  trees.  They  have  had  their  own  woes,  and  will 
have  them  again,  and  cannot  afford  to  sympathize  with 
those  external  to  themselves ;  for  the  sympathetic  are 
ever  bearing  burthens  that  do  not  belong  to  them. 
The  great  gates  which  seem  to  say,  "Abandon  love, 
all  ye  who  enter  here,"  are  not  less  sympathetic  than 
their  keepers ;  and  both  look  stonily  upon  the  funeral 
pageants  as  they  pass,  and  have  no  heart  to  answer  to 
that  low,  stifled  wail  which  is  the  note  of  despair. 

Observe  the  funerals.  They  are  many  and  different ; 
some  pompous  and  pretentious ;  some  plain  and  unas- 
suming, with  more  freightage  of  grief  than  the  loftier 
ones;  for  prosperity  hardens,  and  splendor,  which 
hides,  also  lessens  pain. 

This  is  an  ambitious  cortege.  The  coffin  is  rosewood 
and  mounted  with  silver,  for  the  dead  man  was  very 
rich  and  little  loved.  The  weeds  of  his  widow  and 
nearest  relatives  are  very  deep  and  costly ;  and  those 
kinsfolk  look  as  if  they  deemed  it  their  duty  to  mourn, 
which,  like  many  other  duties,  is  most  difficult  to  dis- 
charge. 

Are  they  thinking  of  what  they  have  lost ;  of  a 
gentle  smile  forever  withdrawn;  of  a  loving  heart  for- 
ever still  ?     They  are  thinking  less  of  what  has  gone 


Greenwood.      .  115 

than  what  has  been  left, — of  bequests  and  legacies,  of 
pleasures  they  will  purchase  and  vanities  they  will 
gratify.  In  their  secret  hearts,  they  rejoice  that  he  is 
dead.  His  death  was  the  kindest  thing  he  ever  did 
for  them;  and,  were  he  conscious  once  more,  they 
would  thank  him  for  quitting  a  life  he  was  too  selfish 
to  make  useful  and  too  sordid  to  beautify. 

Another  comes.  The  deceased  was  an  old  man  ; 
but  the  widow  is  young,  and  fair,  and  fashionable,  for 
she  loved  her  husband  not.  She  tried  long  and  hard ; 
but  who  can  compel  the  heart?  And,  when  esteem 
was  half  mistaken  for  affection,  the  one  great  love 
which  woman  never  feels  but  once,  often  as  it  may  be 
repeated,  and  counterfeited,  swept  like  a  consuming 
fire  through  every  fibre  of  her  long-starving  soul. 
Prudence,  duty,  loyalty,  were  reduced  to  ashes  by  the 
intense  flame,  and  blown  to  every  wind  by  the  gusts 
of  passion.  And  yet  it  burned  on,  burned  when  the 
lamp  of  the  other's  life  went  out;  burns  when  he  is 
lowered  into  the  earth.  Conscience  pricks;  remorse 
stings;  but,  looking  up,  the  widow  meets  the  tender 
eye  of  the  living  and  loving  man  for  whom  all  this  de- 
ception and  perfidy  have  been,  and  the  whole  Universe 
has  nothing  for  her  but  that  one  tender  gaze. 

Few  carriages  make  up  this  train,  and  few  mourners 
are  in  them.  But  the  tears  they  shed  are  genuine, 
and  the  grief  they  show  comes  from  their  inmost  souls. 
Wife  and  mother  was  she  to  the  fullest ;  and,  when  she 
died,  a  place  was  made  vacant  that  cannot  be  supplied. 
Years  hence,  he  and  his  children  will  entwine  her  dear 
name  with  their  prayers,  and  Heaven  will  seem  near 
when  her  spirit  is  invoked. 

In  that  coffin  lies  a  girl,  of  eighteen,  so  young  in 


116  The  Great  Metropolis. 

years,  so  old  in  sin;  and  her  funeral  is  the  contribution 
of  her  riches  in  shame.  How  old  the  story,  but  as  sad 
this  hour  as  when  the  first  woman  fell !  No  natural 
protectors;  with  beauty  that  tempted  and  passion  that 
deceived,  it  was  as  natural  she  should  err  as  the  o'er- 
ripe  fruit  should  drop  or  the  breezes  blow.  After  tw^o 
years  of  wantonness,  she  still  could  love,  and  deserted 
by  a  common  creature  whom  the  poor  courtesan  had 
made  a  god  in  the  profane  temple  of  her  heart,  she 
lifted  her  hand  against  her  life,  and  slew  it. 

What  made  Romeo  and  Juliet  immortal,  and  set 
Werther  to  the  music  of  his  kind  will  not  hallow  a 
nameless  grave.  Yet  love  is  love,  throbbing  below 
the  coronet  or  trembling  in  pariah's  garb;  and  the 
Eternal  Love  will  always  recognize  it,  and  bless  it  for 
its  being,  and  see  that  no  part  of  it  shall  ever  perish. 

In  that  little  group  mourns  one  who  has  no  social 
privilege  to  mourn,  whose  love  would  be  reckoned 
sin  (as  if  to  love  could  ever  be  a  sin)  in  books  of 
creed  and  canons  of  the  Church.  But  he  loved  her 
better  than  a  brother,  a  father  or  husband,  and  yet 
■was  none  of  those.  It  is  pity  it  is  so;  that  circum- 
stance, and  destiny  will  not  flow  in  the  channels  of  in- 
clination, or  bubble  up  in  the  springs  of  sympathy. 

Does  the  next,  or  any  succeeding  sphere  set  right 
the  wrongs  and  cross-purposes  of  this  ?  Ask  the  ocean 
of  its  tides,  and  the  stars  of  their  occupants ;  but  they 
will  not  answer  any  more  than  that  question  can  be 
answered.  Yet  it  is  good  to  believe  all  is  for  the  best ; 
for  belief  is  consolation,  and  consolation  strength. 

A  bachelor  friend,  who  has  seen  a  good  deal  of  the 
World,  and  of  that  peculiar  portion  known  as  women. 


Greenwood.  117 

once  told  me  one  of  his  sentimental  experiences  wHle 
we  were  lounging  in  Greenwood. 

''Five  years  ago  about  this  time,"  lie  said,  "  I  was 
sitting  near  this  spot  with  a  very  pretty  and  romantic 
girl,  who  had  long  declared  she  loved  me,  and  who, 
though  blessed  with  a  wealthy  father,  w^ould  have 
married  me  and  my  poverty,,  and  defied  all  her  rela- 
tives, if  I  had  permitted  her  to  make  such  a  sacrifice. 

"I  was  quite  fond  of  her,  as  men  of  sensibility  and 
gallantry  usually  are  of  women  who  love  them  devo- 
tedly, and  the  fact  that  I  could  not  make  her  my  wife 
rendered  our  relation  more  poetic  than  it  would  have 
been  had  we  been  engaged.  She  was  rather  delicate, 
and  her  friends  feared  she  had  a  pulmonary  affection. 
She  thought  she  would  not  live  long,  and  the  day  we 
sat  together  here  she  looked  pale,  and  more  lovely 
than  ever.  The  Autumn  leaves  were  falling  round  us, 
and  with  her  head  leaning  on  my  breast,  she  said,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes :  ^  I  feel,  darling,  that  I  am  dying.  I 
believe  that  the  next  year's  leaves  will  strew  my  grave. 
But  I  shall  rest  sweetly  if  I  can  dream  in  Heaven  that 
you  still  love  me.' 

"My  heart  was  touched  as  it  never  was  before,"  my 
friend  added.  "I  fancied  at  that  moment  that  I  loved 
her  devotedly.  I  was  tempted  to  say,  '  Be  mine,  dar- 
ling, before  the  World.  If  we  love  each  other,  we 
shall  have  wealth  enough,  and  contentment  that  for- 
tune cannot  buy.'  But  I  remembered  the  day  would 
come  when  neither  of  us  would  feel  so ;  that  no  pas- 
sion, however  ardent,  can  survive  meager  breakfasts, 
and  cold  potatoes  at  dinner.  So  I  kissed  her  tenderly ; 
dried  the  dew  of  her  tears  on  the  rose  leaves  of  my 
lips  (I  was  sentimental  then);  and  told  her  she  would 


118  The  Great  Metropolis. 

be  some  man's  lovely  wife  when  I  was  at  supper  after 
Polonius's  fashion. 

"She  looked  a  sad  rebuke  at  this,  and  sheji  more 
tears,  which  I  kissed  away  again,  and  we  wandered 
into  less  lugubrious  themes. 

"We  retained  our  sentimental  attachment  until  the 
War  broke  out.  I  went  to  the  field,  and  after  a  few 
letters  our  correspondence  ended. 

''When  the  struggle  was  over,  I  came  home,  and 
one  of  the  first  carriages  I  noticed  in  the  Park  contain- 
ed my  quondam  inamorata,  a  middle-aged  man,  rather 
vulgar,  though  very  prosperous  -  looking,  and  two 
bouncing  children  in  charge  of  a  French-Irish  bonne. 

"  One  glance  told  the  whole  story.  I  perceived  that 
the  sentimental  drama  had  ended  as  a  comedy,  with 
marriage;  and  I  laughed,  as  I  had  often  done  before 
under  similar  circumstances,  at  the  prose  denouement 
of  the  rose-colored  episode.  I  learned  a  few  days  after 
that  my  sweet  Saloma  had  accepted  a  husband,  of  her 
parents'  election,  who  had  made  a  fortune  by  a  Gov- 
ernment contract,  and  who  did  not  know  whether 
Dante  was  a  Dane  or  a  Dutchman,  and  certainly  did 
not  care. 

"I  was  glad  she  had  done  so  well,  and  gladder  I  had 
not  been  unwise  enough  to  make  her  matrimonially 
miserable.  I  drank  a  glass  of  wine  at  dinner  every 
day  for  a  week  to  her  connubial  happiness — it  was 
barely  necessary  to  toast  her  health  then — and,  meet- 
ing her  at  the  opera  a  fortnight  after,  she  remembered 
my  face,  but  had  forgotten  my  name — the  name  of  the 
man  she  had  vowed  she  loved  better  than  her  own  soul, 
and  who  was  all  the  World  to  her,  and  something 
more. 


Greenwood.  119 

''  Women  are  fine  rhetoricians,"  remarked  my  friend, 
"l)ut  I  think  they  place  a  small  estimate  upon  the 
World  and  their  own  souls." 

Another  story  about  the  cemetery.  A  merchant  of 
wealth  lost  his  wife,  of  whom  he  had  seemed  to  be  very 
fond,  and  who  had  borne  him  several  children.  He 
followed  her  coffin  to  the  grave  in  tears,  and  showed 
more  violent  grief  than  it  is  usual  for  men,  even  in  the 
greatest  affliction.  His  friends  pitied  him,  and  de- 
clared him  a  model  of  domestic  devotion ;  some  even 
doubting  if  he  would  long  survive  the  partner  of  his 
bosom.  Their  surprise  and  indignation  may  be  im- 
agined when  he  married  the  governess  of  his  children, 
the  third  day  after  the  funeral. 

Those  who  claimed  to  know,  said  he  proposed  to 
her  on  the  way  home — they  rode  together  in  the  same 
carriage — and  that  she,  after  a  fit  of  weeping  and  a 
tumultuous  protest  against  the  haste  and  indelicacy  of 
the  proceeding,  under  the  circumstances,  accepted 
him,  and  had  a  clear  understanding  about  the  amount 
of  the  settlement  he  would  make  upon  her. 

Many  members  of  his  set  cut  him  directly,  and  his 
premature  marriage  excited  so  much  feeling  in  his 
circle  that  he  found  it  convenient  to  go  abroad  and 
stay  for  two  years.  When  he  returned,  his  dead  wife's 
friends  had  grown  indifferent  to,  or  forgotten  her 
wrongs,  and  received  the  second  wife  with  welcome,  as 
if  nothing  had  occurred  to  disturb  the  old  social  rela- 
tions. 

The  merchant  understood  human  nature.  Go  away 
for  two  years,  apd  people  will  forget  almost  anything, 
their  dearest  friends  not  excepted. 

When  you  read  all  the  inscriptions  and  epitaphs, 


120  The  Great  Metropolis. 

believe  them  true,  and  wonder  not  how  it  happens 
that  the  grave  is  the  great  saint-maker.  You  may 
think,  when  the  predicted  resurrection  comes,  that 
most  of  the  risen,  on  reading  their  tombstones,  will  be 
convinced  they  were  put  into  the  wrong  graves.  But 
do  not  say  so,  lest  you  be  deemed  a  cynic,  or  a  truth- 
speaker,  which  is  much  the  same. 

Console  yourself  with  the  reflection  that  whatever 
life  you  lead,  your  virtues  will  blossom  in  the  dust ; 
that  men  who  carve  in  marble  are  privileged  to  lie ; 
and  that,  being  fairly  out  of  everybody's  way,  and 
incapable  of  coming  back,  your  worst  enemies  will 
hardly  take  the  pains  to  remember  they  hated  you. 

But  as  for  those  who  loved  me  ?  ask  you.  Never 
mind  them.  Sir  Egotist,  and  they  will  not  disturb 
themselves  about  you.  Love  has  often  done  men 
more  harm  than  good  in  this  World ;  but  in  the  tomb 
it  will  do  you  neither  one  nor  the  other ;  for  the  grave- 
grass  heals  the  deepest  wounds  that  love  has  ever 
made. 


CHAPTER    XII. 
THE    PARKS. 

If  New- York  lias  its  festering  tenement-houses,  it 
has  also  its  wholesome  parks,  and  these  are,  in  some 
sort,  its  redemption.  No  city  in  the  Union  has  so 
many  breathing-places,  and  the  Metropolis,  in  spite  of 
its  crowded  population,  its  municipal  mismanagement, 
its  poverty,  its  vice  and  its  squalor,  is  probably  one  of 
the  healthiest  great  centres  of  civilization  in  the  World. 

It  is  not  a  little  remarkable,  in  a  City  where  every 
square  inch  of  ground  is  prized  as  gold,  that  so  much 
real  estate  in  the  most  valuable  part  of  the  island 
should  have  been  appropriated  to  the  public  use.  We 
owe  much  to  the  early  moulders  of  Manhattan  for 
their  liberality,  and  much  to  the  good  sense  and  judg- 
ment of  those  who  first  suggested  the  purchase  of  the 
Central  Park. 

Altogether,  we  have  as  many  as  twenty  squares  or 
parks ;  but  a  number  of  these  are  private,  and  others 
are  being  converted  to  business  uses,  which  is  not 
greatly  to  be  regretted,  since  we  have  the  Central,  in- 
cluding and  overshadowing  all.  The  best-known,  ex- 
clusive of  the  Central,  are  the  City  Hall,  Union,  Madi- 
son, Stuyvesant,  Washington,  Tompkins,  Gramercy 
and  Manhattan. 

The  time-honored,  once  famous  plaza,  the  Battery,  has 


122  The  Great  Metropolis. 

long  been  employed  as  an  emigrant  d^pot ;  St.  John's 
is  now  used  as  a  station  by  the  Hudson  River  railway  ; 
Tompkins'  square  has  been  allowed  to  run  to  waste ; 
Grammercy  has  become  private  property,  and  is  kept 
carefully  locked  up  the  greater  part  of  the  time. 

City  Hall,  Washington,  Union,  and  Madison  are  really 
the  only  public  grounds,  and  they  have  been  so  much 
neglected  that  they  have  lost  most  of  their  attractions. 
Since  they  have  been  placed  in  charge  of  the  Central 
Park  commissioners,  however,  it  is  believed  they  will 
soon  be  made  to  resume  something  of  their  old  fresh- 
ness and  beauty. 

The  down-town  enclosures  have  of  late  years,  espe- 
cially since  the  opening  of  the  Central,  been  given  up 
to  disreputable  loungers,  children  and  nurses — those 
of  our  citizens  who  needed  recreation  and  fresh  air 
going  to  the  Park  to  find  them.  The  smaller  open 
spaces  add  to  the  pleasantness  and  picturesqueness  of 
the  Metropolis ;  but  they  are  more  for  ornament  than 
for  use,  and  so  completely  swallowed  up  by  the  Fifty- 
ninth  street  rus  in  urbe  as  to  be  tmdeserving  of  special 
mention. 

Many  of  New- York's  pretensions  are  absurd,  as 
every  sensible  person  knows ;  but  it  has  a  right  to 
boast  of  the  Central  Park,  (and  it  does,  too,)  for  it  is 
indeed  an  honor  and  a  glory.  It  is  hardly  surpassed 
by  any  in  the  old  world,  and  will  in  time  surpass  the 
celebrated  Hyde  Park  of  London  and  the  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne of  Paris.  Every  year  adds  to  its  attractiveness, 
and  when  its  groves  have  grown  and  its  countless  pro- 
jected improvements  been  completed,  it  will  well  de- 
serve the  name  delightful. 

With  nearly  a  thousand  acres  of  elaborately  laid  out 


The  Parks.  123 

grounds,  with  its  charming  walks  and  drives,  its  lakes 
and  grottoes,  its  caves  and  casino,  its  mall  and  bridges, 
its  rocks  and  rustic  arbors,  it  would  be  a  temptation 
and  a  pleasure  to  any  one,  but  most  of  all  to  the  busy 
million  who  inhabit  this  busy  island,  and  who  are  shut 
away  from  fresh  breezes  and  green  fields  by  the  pres- 
ence of  poverty  or  the  demands  of  interest. 

The  great  advantage  of  the  Park  is,  that  it  is  open 
to  all,  and  that  the  poor  enjoy  it  more  than  the  rich, 
who  can  go  where  they  like,  and  purchase  what  the 
Central  gives  gratis. 

No  sight  is  more  pleasant  there  than  the  laborer  or 
mechanic,  on  Saturday  afternoon  or  Sunday,  with  his 
wife  and  children,  luxuriating  in  the  mere  absence  of 
toil,  and  drinking  in  the  breezes  from  the  sea  which 
cannot  find  their  way  into  the  close  tenement  quarters 
he  calls  his  home.  He  gains  new  health,  new  hope, 
new  heart  there,  and  dares  to  believe,  while  Nature  is 
whispering  to  him  on  every  side,  that  he  may  yet 
emancipate  himself  and  those  he  loves  from  the  mean- 
ness and  hardness  that  environ  him.  His  good  reso- 
lutions are  strengthened  there ;  and  who  shall  say  that 
men  who  have  dissipated  their  earnings,  and  robbed 
those  dependent  on  them  of  such  comforts  as  were 
needed,  have  not,  under  the  clear  canopy  of  the  sky, 
away  from  dust,  and  tumult,  and  distraction,  felt  the 
better  and  truer  life,  and  turned  to  it  with  earnestness 
and  laudable  ambition  ?  No  doubt  the  Park  does  moral 
as  well  as  physical  good ;  for  there  is  closer  connection 
between  what  is  known  as  sense  and  soul  than  philo- 
sophers have  discovered,  or  theologians  have  dared  to 
believe. 

The  Park  is  noticeable  in  one  respect:  It  is  the  only 
well-governed  part  of  the  entire  island.     The  con'up- 


124  The  Great  Metropolis. 

tion,  the  political  trading,  and  the  malfeasance  in  of 
fice  that  characterize  the  "authorities"  of  New- York, 
seem  kept  out  of  that  particular  territory  by  honest 
cherubim,  imported  from  some  other  locality,  who 
guard  the  gates  with  unseen  swords.  Of  the  commis- 
sioners, wonderful  to  relate,  no  one  complains.  They 
have  never  been  accused  of,  much  less  discovered  in, 
appropriating  the  public  funds,  or  defrauding  the  mu- 
nicipal treasury  in  any  way.  Yet  they  are  mortal  and 
live  in  New-York.  So  the  age  of  miracles  is  not  over, 
and  the  millenium  may  yet  be  hoped  for. 

On  pleasant  afternoons  the  Park  presents  a  brilliant 
appearance,  and  reveals  not  only  the  worth  and  wealth, 
but  the  pretension  and  parvenuism  of  this  aristocratic- 
democratic  city.  One  would  hardly  believe  he  was  in 
a  republican  country  to  see  the  escutcheoned  panels  of 
the  carriages,  the  liveried  coachmen,  and  the  supercili- 
ous air  of  the  occupants  of  the  vehicles,  as  they  go 
pompously  and  flaringly  by.  Some  of  these  persons 
are  so  conspicuously  emblazoned  and  tawdrily  attired 
that  one  may  well  doubt  if  meanness  and  vulgarity  do 
not  lie  behind  their  elaborate  tinseling.  And,  if  he 
inquire,  he  will  discover  his  doubts  are  confirmed.  He 
will  learn  that  the  nouveaux  riches^  the  people  who 
are  from  not  only  humble,  but  vulgar  origin,  who  lack 
culture  and  generosity  of  character,  are  most  anxious 
to  hide  their  past  with  purple,  and  veneer  their  lacking 
with  pretense. 

Those  two  carriages  following  one  after  another  are 
singularly  alike,  and  so  are  the  occupants.  The  women 
are  fleshy,  gross,  and  very  showily  dressed.  They 
imagine  they  resemble  duchesses,  (some  of  the  most 
vulgar-appearing  ladies  in  Europe  are  elderly  title- 
bearers;)  but  they  look  more  like  the  devil,  as  he  is 


The  Parks.  125 

popularly  supposed  to  look,  witli  unrefiuement  oozing 
out  of  their  every  pore,  and  good  breeding  blushing 
behind  their  backs. 

One  carriage  contains  the  wife  and  sister  of  a  con- 
tractor who  made  a  fortune  during  the  war  by  defraud- 
ing the  government,  and  who  ten  years  ago  played 
"  friendly  games"  with  marked  cards.  They  now  envy 
the  wind  that  comes  between  them  and  their  new  no- 
bility, and  believe  they  are  "genteel"  because  they  are 
rich. 

The  other  carriage  bears  a  brace  of  unfortunates 
whose  mode  of  livelihood  is  no  mystery  in  Mercer 
street,  and  whose  pigment  cannot  hide  the  secret  of 
their  shame.  The  newly  rich  women  imagine  those 
fallen  sisters  leaders  of  fashion,  and  privately  long  for 
an  introduction  and  an  invitation  to  what  must  be  very 
exclusive  receptions.  If  told  of  their  mistake,  how  in- 
dignant they  would  be,  and  how  ungrammatically  they 
would  deny  that  they  supposed  "those  horrid  crea- 
tures" to  be  ladies. 

Here  comes  a  plain  carriage,  with  a  plainly  dressed 
pair.  Neither  the  man  nor  woman  is  handsome,  if 
regularity  of  features  mean  that ;  but  their  faces  are 
intellectual  and  spiritual,  and  their  eyes  seem  to  mirror 
truth,  which  is  beauty  as  well.  Their  coachman  has 
no  livery.  They  wear  no  diamonds.  They  are  free 
from  all  appearance  of  affectation.  They  are  of  the 
kind  which  parvenuism  would  consider  nobodies  at 
first  sight, — persons  who  wanted  to  be  something  and 
could  not  succeed. 

Deeply  deluded  they  who  judge  so.  That  man  and 
woman  are  husband  and  wife  in  the  true  sense. 
Though  wealthy  and  moving  in  the  very  best  circles 
of  society,  they  wedded  for  love,  and  lost  not  caste  by 


126  The  Great  Metropolis. 

it,  for  tliey  themselves  make  the  genuine  caste.  If 
there  be  such  a  thing  as  gentle  blood  in  this  confused 
democracy  of  ours,  they  have  it.  But  they  do  not 
talk  of  it.  They  do  not  tell  you,  unless  by  accident, 
who  their  grandfather  and  great-grandfather  were ; 
for  they  know  that  true  refinement  and  breeding  need 
no  trumpets. 

As  an  offset  to  that  contented  and  single  couple  is 
another,  who  are  their  friends,  and  drive  by  them  in  a 
turn-out  putting  theirs  to  shame.  The  second  couple 
are  fond  of  display,  but  are  educated,  good-hearted, 
highminded.  They  are  far  from  satisfied, .  however. 
The  childless  wife  loved  a  poor  man,  whom  she  could 
not  therefore  wed ;  and  so,  with  characteristic  perver- 
sity, wedded  a  man  she  could  not  love. 

She  has  paid  the  penalty,  as  all  do  who  violate  na- 
ture, which  is,  if  rightly  understood,  the  only  sin. 
Year  after  year  she  represses  every  loving  impulse  of 
her  heart,  and  starves  her  tender  soul  in  the  midst  of 
material  plenty. 

Her  partner  rather  than  her  husband,  has  an  ample 
fortune,  but  a  broken  constitution  and  feeble  health. 
There  is  no  enjoyment  for  him.  He  knows  the  woman 
Avho  sits  opposite  with  vacant  eyes  has  no  sympathy 
with  him.  He  has  sought  pleasure  in  society,  in  travel, 
in  the  excitements  of  business ;  but  it  came  not.  The 
old  pain,  the  feeling  of  exhaustion,  is  with  him  always ; 
and  he  waits  with  such  patience  as  he  can  command 
for  the  end.  "  Oh,  yes,  that  will  be  a  relief,"  he  thinks, 
"for  the  dead  do  not  sufFer  and  to  be  comfortably 
dead  is  a  blessing  after  all." 

The  hard-working  mechanic  that  looks  up  at  the  pale 
face,  and  sees  the  handsome  carriage,  envies  him  who 


The  Parks.  127 

has  such  abundant  wealth.  And  the  man  of  means 
looks  down  at  the  toiler  with  the  ruddy  flush  in  his 
face,  and  the  stalwart  form,  and  envies  what  he  him- 
self has  lost. 

Ever  thus  with  life.  We  envy  the  seeming,  igno- 
rant of  the  actual.  We  murmur  at  our  own  lot,  and 
yet  would  shrink  from  exchanging  destinies  with  those 
standing  apparently  above  us,  and  wrapped^  in  self- 
content. 

To  him  who  pines  for  pecuniary  success,  who  has 
been  rudely  buffeted  by  fortune,  there  is,  if  he  be 
generous,  satisfaction  in  knowing  while  he  stands  or 
walks  in  the  Park,  that  there  are  so  many  more  blessed 
than  he.  He  can  count  by  the  hour  the  line  of  car- 
riages that  dash  by  him,  radiant  with  smiles  of  the  in- 
mates and  emitting  odors  of  prosperity ;  and  rejoice 
that  they  have  gained  what  he  has  missed.  If  he  be 
ungenerous,  he  can  think  of  the  skeletons  in  perfumed 
closets  at  home ;  of  the  one  desire  longed  for  above 
all  others,  and  never  to  be  gratified ;  of  the  vacuity  of 
the  heart  that  will  not  be  filled,  put  into  it  what  chink- 
ing coin  we  may ;  of  the  absence  of  the  sympathy  we 
all  need,  since  gold  will  not  buy  nor  adversity  destroy 
it ;  of  the  sweet  hope  of  to-morrow,  without  which  life 
is  only  breathing  beneath  a  pall. 

Let  him  think  of  those  things,  surely  sad  enough, 
and  consolation  will  be  born  of  thought, — a  little  con- 
solation, which  will  not  be  lost,  but  which  will  be  suc- 
ceeded by  a  broader  feeling.  A  higher  philosophy 
will  come,  that  each  human  creature  must  work  out 
his  own  destiny  as  best  he  may,  and  with  such  forces 
as  are  his ;  that  Envy  is  more  than  useless ;  that  Duty 
as  we  conceive  it,  alone  is  precious ;  and  that,  within 


128 


The  Great  Metropolis. 


less  than  a  century,  notliing  in  the  present  can  yield 
us  pleasure  or  give  us  pain. 

The  Park  has  its  lessons;  and,  though  envy  may  be 
the  first  feeling  of  him  who  goes  there  poor  and  un- 
successful, a  certain  content  will  come  after  he  lingers 
and  reflects  on  what  passes  before  him.  He  will  see 
in  due  time  that  all  that  glitters  is  not  gold ;  that 
while  health  and  self-respect  remain  he  has  no  reason 
to  complain  of  fortune  or  despair  of  the  future. 


MASS  MEETING,  UNION  SQUARE. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
THE    BOWERY. 

The  Bowery  is  one  of  the  most  peculiar  and  striking 
quarters  of  the  Metropolis.  It  is  a  city  in  itself;  and 
a  walk  from  Chatham  square  to  Seventh  street  reveals 
a  variety  of  life  second  only  to  Broadway  itself  It  is 
the  Cheapside  of  New- York ;  the  place  of  the  People ; 
the  resort  of  mechanics  and  the  laboring  classes ;  the 
home  and  the  haunt  of  a  great  social  democracy. 

Within  a  single  block  of  Broadway,  it  is  sufficiently 
unlike  that  great  thoroughfare  to  be  in  another  State 
or  section  of  the  country.  The  buildings  are  different ; 
the  people  are  different ;  the  atmosphere,  the  manners, 
the  customs  are  different.  The  few  blocks  separate  it 
from  Broadway  as  a  Chinese  wall ;  and  opposing  Tar- 
tary  rages  but  disturbs  not,  within  reach  of  the  human 
voice. 

When  one  turns  off  from  Broadway  at  Park  Row, 
struggles  through  Chatham  street,  and  toils  into  the 
Bowery,  he  cannot  be  so  absorbed  as  not  to  be  una- 
ware of  the  change.  Every  place  and  step  remind 
him  of  his  wanderings. 

The  human  sea  on  which  he  floats  is  more  noisy 
and  tumultuous.  The  waters  are  less  clear.  More 
drift  and  sea- weed  are  on  the  surface.  The  dash  of  the 
waves  is  more  irregular;  their  murmur  hoarser ;  their 
swell  more  unbroken. 
9 


130  The  Great  Metropolis. 

The  Bowery  is  more  cosmopolitan  than  Broadway 
even.  It  contains  more  types  of  persons;  more  na- 
tionalities; a  greater  variety,  though  less  contrast,  of 
characters. 

The  vast  Globe  seems  to  have  emptied  itself  into 
that  broad  curve,  lined  with  buildings  of  every  kind, 
new  and  old,  marble  and  brick,  high  and  low,  stone 
and  wood. 

Germans  are  so  numerous  there,  one  might  fancy 
himself  in  Frankfort  or  Hamburg.  Irish  so  abound 
that  Cork  and  Dublin  appear  to  have  come  over  in  the 
vast  ships  lying  at  the  not  distant  piers.  Italians  prat- 
tle, in  Ariosto's  language,  of  the  beauty  of  bananas  and 
the  importance  of  pennies.  Frenchmen  jabber;  Span- 
iards look  grave;  Chinamen  stand  sad  and  silent;  col- 
ored men  stare  vacantly^  or  laugh  unctiously,  in  that 
singular  hub-bub  of  humanity. 

Order,  and  form,  and  caste,  and  deference,  shaken 
and  confused  in  Broadway,  are  broken  into  fragments 
in  the  Bowery,  and  trampled  under  foot. 

''  Who  are  you ?  "I  am  as  good  as  anybody ;"  "  The 
devil  take  you;"  "We  are  for  ourselves;  Look  out 
for  your  own,"  are  written  in  every  passing  face,  and 
flaunting  sign,  and  tawdry  advertisement  this  side  of 
Cooper  Institute  and  Tompkins  market. 

No  respect  for  persons  in  the  surging  Bowery.  You 
may  be  the  President,  or  a  Major-General,  or  be  Gov- 
ernor, or  be  Mayor,  and  you  will  be  jostled  and  crowded 
off  the  sidewalk  just  the  same  as  if  you  drew  beer  at 
the  Atlantic  Garden,  or  played  supernumerary  at  the 
Stadt  theatre. 

Broadway  has  some  idea  of  what  is  known  as  behav- 
ior.    Perhaps  the  Bowery  has  too.     But  it  does  not 


The  Bowery.  131 

carry  the  idea  into  practice.  It  treads  on  your  heels ; 
turns  molasses,  or  milk,  or  liquor  over  your  clothes ; 
tears  your  garments,  or  whirls  you  into  the  gutter ; 
yet  never  asks  your  pardon,  or  explains  in  the  least 

If  you  want  manners,  you  should  not  be  there.  You 
must  submit  to  the  customs  of  the  quarter,  or  fight,  if 
you  are  aggrieved.  In  America,  fighting  is  always  a 
proposal  to  be  received,  and  is  generally  welcome  to 
some  one  within  sound  of  your  challenge. 

When  the  denizens  of  Broadway  straggle  into  the 
Bowery,  they  are  easily  recognized  as  Greeks  in  Con- 
stantinople. They  are  evidently  not  at  home.  Elbowed 
and  run  against,  they  look  up  in  surprise,  and  seem  to 
expect  some  kind  of  apology.  If  they  murmur,  an 
oath  is  thrown  back  at  them,  or  a  withering  contempt 
for  their  conventionalism  and  consequence. 

*'If  you  disapprove  of  our  ways,"  says  the  Bowery, 
with  defiant  chin  and  arms  akimbo,  "  go  over  to  Broad- 
way. They  make  you  pay  for  manners  there.  Here 
you  can  have  plainness  and  naturalness  for  nothing. 
We'll  drink  or  fight  with  you.  But  we  won't  feign  or 
flatter.     It  isn't  our  style." 

The  Bowery  is  practical  as  well  as  blunt.  It  is  a 
great  retail  mart.  Every  block  is  filled  with  trades- 
men, and  showmen,  and  tricksters.  It  has  its  own 
theatres,  and  hotels,  and  literature,  and  business,  and 
pleasures. 

Its  object  is  not  to  sell  to  the  public  what  the  public 
wants,  but  what  it  does  not  want.  Hence  unfortunate 
dealers,  and  aggressive  clerks,  and  flaming  advertise- 
ments and  posters,  that  assure  you  in  many  ways  you 
are  a  fool  if  you  neglect  the  golden  opportunity  for  the 
first  and  last  time  presented. 


132  The  Great  Metropolis. 

To  believe  a  tithe  of  what  huge  cards,  and  oppress- 
ive signs  declare  is  to  feel  your  fortune  secured,  and 
the  kindest  gods  struggling  to  crown  you  with  their 
choicest  blessings. 

You  can  buy  anything  in  the  Bowery— buy  it  cheap, 
and  find  it  very  dear.  Brass  watches,  warranted  to  be 
gold;  frail  goods,  made  strong  by  oaths;  spurious  jew- 
elry, shining  with  affidavits;  old  clothes,  scoured  to 
brightness  with  much  care  and  more  promises, — all 
these  are  to  be  had  there  in  profusion,  and  confusion 
withal. 

In  what  ruin  all  Bowery  dealers  are  determined  to 
involve  themselves !  What  sacrifices  they  are  resolved 
to  make  !  What  religious  consecration  is  theirs  to  the 
pleasure  and  the  benefit  of  the  deeply-adored  public ! 
How  solicitous  are  they  to  secure  to  the  needy  com- 
munity bargains  at  all  hazards ! 

Externally,  they  live  only  for  others.  Really,  they 
live  only  upon  others.  They  measure  their  shrewd- 
ness against  the  meanness  of  their  customers.  They 
practically  believe  honesty  is  the  worst  policy  and  that 
he  who  cannot  cheat  deserves  to  be  cheated. 

The  Bowery  knows  its  patrons.  What  would  in- 
sult a  Broadway  habitue^  and  drive  him  off"  in  indigna- 
tion, holds  and  wins  the  frequenter  of  the  more  demo- 
cratic thoroughfare. 

The  Bowery  takes  the  ground  that  no  man  or  woman 
knows  what  he  or  she  wants,  and  that  it  is  the  mission 
and  the  province  of  the  shop-keeper  to  enlighten  such 
ignorance.  Desire  must  be  created;  articles  must  be 
uro-ed.  Given  the  customer,  the  tradesman  is  a  sim- 
pleton  who  cannot  manage  the  sale. 

I  have  often  wondered,  and  at  last  smiled,  at  the 


The  Bowery. 


Oo 


method  of  the  Bowery  merchant,  which  is  much  in  this 
fashion. 

Woman — Have  you  got  any  calico  like  this  (show- 
ing a  piece)? 

Tradesman — Any  quantity ;  but  you  don't  want  it. 
I'll  show  you — 

Woman — I  want  something  to  match.     I've — 

Tradesman — ^You're  mistaken,  madam.  You  don't 
want  such  old-fashioned  goods  as  that.  Of  course  you 
don't.  No  woman  does.  It's  absurd  to  s'pose  so. 
Look  at  that  piece,  madam.  A  regular  beauty,  and 
cheap  as  dirt.  Sold  that  yesterday  for  a  dollar.  Will 
let  you  have  it  for  six  shillings.  Not  another  such  bar- 
gain in  New- York. 

Wow.an — But  it  isn't  like  what — 

Tradesman  —  It's  just  what  you  want,  my  dear 
madam.  Why,  I  can  see  in  your  pretty  face  that  it  is. 
Suits  your  style  'xactly.  When  you  put  it  on,  your 
husband  will  declare  you  never  was  so  lovely. 

Woman — I  haven't  got  any  husband. 

Tradesman — Of  course  you  haven't.  But  you  will 
have  when  you  buy  this  dress.  That's  what  I  meant. 
See  that,  now.  Why,  those  colors  would  catch  any 
chap.  They're  elegant,  and  so  very  low,  madam.  Re- 
member, I  said  six  shillings.  They  cost  five  and  six- 
pence at  the  manufactory;  can  show  you  the  bills. 
You've  too  much  sense  and  taste  to  refuse  that  at  the 
money.  Don't  hesitate.  It's  your  last  chance.  How 
many  yards?  Nine?  Better  take  eleven.  That's  right. 
Boy,  bring  the  yardstick.  What  kind  of  trimmins  ? 
Perfect  beauty  made  up.  You're  a  lucky  woman  this 
day.     Only  six  shillins.     What  a  splendid  bargain ! 

Scene,  a  boot-store.     Enter  a  modest-looking  me- 


134  The  Great  Metropolis. 

clianic;  made  humble  by  oppression  and  over-labor 
doubtless. 

Mechanic  (with  timid  air) — Want  to  look  at  pair  of 
cheap  boots,  if  it  isn't  too  much  trouble. 

Dealer — Trouble,  indeed?  We  don't  intend  to  be 
troubled.  We  'xpect  to  make  people  buy  who  come 
in  here.  Don't  we,  Jake  (to  a  rough-featured  salesman 
a  few  yards  off)?     Yes,  sir;  we'll  fit  you,  sure." 

Mechanic — I  just  wanted  to  look  to-day.  I'll  call 
again — 

Dealer — No,  you  won't.  Set  down.  On  that  stool 
there.  Try  these.  They  don't  fit?  The  devil  they 
don't?  Never  was  better  fit;  was  there,  Jake?  You 
don't  know  anything  about  it.  Come,  come,  old  boy. 
Pull  out  your  pocket-book.  Let  her  bleed  for  $7. 
Can't  wear  'em  out.  You  must  have  'em.  Not  money 
enough  now?  Then  leave  $3,  and  drop  in  ag'in. 
That's  right.  Name?  Eobert  Murray.  All  right. 
Keep  'em  for  you,  my  man.     Good  mornin'. 

The  descendants  of  Abraham  are  abundant  in  the 
Bowery.  They  deal  in  old  and  new  clothes,  in  watches 
and  jewelry,  and  advance  money  upon  pledges, — the 
three  vocations  to  which  Jerusalem  ever  tends  in 
America.  They  are  ever  on  the  alert.  They  detect  a 
good  customer  as  a  pointer  does  a  bird.  They  espe- 
cially covet  the  men  whom  the  ocean-breezes  bear  to 
the  port  of  New- York,  and  the  winds  of  Fate  drive 
into  the  Bowery  on  stormy  days. 

The  dark-eyed,  dark-visaged  fellow  behind  the  glass 
case  perceives  a  sailor  rolling  towards  him,  and  fastens 
the  mariner  with  his  eye  and  then  by  the  sleeve. 

Shark — Yant  to  buy  a  goot  vatch,  mein  fren'  ? 


The  Bowery.  135 

Sailor — Dun  no,  messmate.  What  ye  got  to  sell  ? 
Might  buy,  p'raps. 

Shark — Ah,  dare's  te  nichest  vatch  vat  ever  vas. 
Sheep  as  you  ever  saw.  Take  it  for  dirty  tollars.  All 
gold;  full  sheweled;  sholid  as  a  rock.  Isn'titapeauty? 
Misther  Ishaacs,  de  broker,  round  de  corner,  lends 
feefty  tollar  on  it,  but  must  have  de  moneys.  He  veel 
give  you  more  as  tat  any  times.  You  have  a  barg'in, 
my  fren'.  Dat  vatch  all  gold,  full-sheweled,  for  dirty 
tollar.     0,  0,  how  sheep! 

While  the  sailor  looks  into  the  case,  the  Hebrew 
slips  the  gold  watch  into  a  drawer,  and  takes  out  an- 
other, galvanized.  The  latter  he  hands  to  the  unsus- 
pecting seaman,  who  puts  his  treasure  in  his  pocket, 
and  rolls  off.  He  will  never  know  the  fraud,  for  he  is 
bent  on  a  cruise  through  the  Fourth  ward.  He  will 
get  drunk  in  a  dance-house  and  be  robbed  of  his  val- 
uables, the  galvanized  chronometer  among  the  rest. 

Perhaps  Mr.  Simons  so  reasons,  and  justifies  himself 
accordingly ;  though  Mr.  Simons'  conscience  is  not  one 
of  the  things  that  trouble  him  often.     ^ 

After  nightfall,  the  Bowery  is  more  crowded  in  the 
vicinity  of  Canal  street  than  during  the  day. 

When  the  tide  has  run  out  in  lower  Broadway,  it  is 
rising  in  the  Bowery.  Then  its  theatres,  and  concert 
saloons,  and  beer-gardens,  and  cock-pits,  and  rat  dens 
are  in  full  flame. 

Bude  bands  torture  melody;  great  lamps  glare; 
sidewalk  venders  cry  "Hot-corn,"  "Roasted  chest- 
nuts," "Nice  oranges."  Dishonest  auctioneers  bellow 
from  smoky  rootns  about  cheap  wares  and  low  prices 
to  the  crowd  that  goes  swaying  by  the  door.  The 
famous  "Bed  House"  is  at  the  top  of  its  tumultuous 


138  The  Great  Metropolis. 

trade,  with  its  mountebanks  in  harlequins'  attire,  and 
shrill  voices  wooing  the  Bowery  to  buy. 

People  of  both  sexes  are  streaming  in  and  out  of 
the  beer  gardens, — often  consisting  only  of  a  few 
benches  and  withered  boughs, — and  the  soft  music  of 
a  Lanner  waltz  or  a  Rossini  overture  comes  rippling 
out  over  the  turmoil  of  the  street,  like  the  light  of  the 
moon  over  a  dreadful  deed. 

The  theatres — German  and  English — are  drawing 
their  respective  audiences.  American  newsboys  and 
mature  mechanics  are  discussing  the  dramatic  horrors 
they  expect  to  witness,  and  laughing  in  anticipation  of 
the  dreary  drolleries  of  Tony  Pastor's  opera-house, 
where  the  mob  is  tickled  and  good  taste  disgusted  for 
soiled  postal  currency  in  small  amounts. 

The  Bowery  habitues  enjoy  themselves,  somewhat 
coarsely,  but  thoroughly  I  suspect.  They  laugh  up- 
roariously at  the  theatre  and  in  the  minstrel-halls  and 
concert-saloons,  and  show  their  appreciation  of  the 
frequently  indelicate  humor  by  punches  in  the  side  of 
their  neighbors,  or  mashing  down  of  well-worn  hats 
over  perspiring  brows.  They  work  hard  by  day; 
laugh  loudly  and  sleep  soundly  at  night,  and  let  the 
morrow  provide  for  itself  with  true  philosophy. 

They  have  not  much  "to  live  for,  but  they  have  less 
to  leave  behind  when  life  is  over;  and  so  anxiety  for 
what  is  not  concerns  them  little.  They  have  good  ap- 
petite and  digestion,  and  they  so  fill  their  hours  with 
work  that  conscience  cannot  keep  them  awake;  and, 
moreover,  they  whose  toil  is  constant  are  not  troubled 
Dy  that  invisible  and  uncertain  monitor. 

Conscience  is  somewhat  of  a  luxury;  and  he  who 
can  keep  it  has  means  to  silence  it  when  clamorous. 


The  Bowery.        *  137 

The  type  of  the  quarter,  known  as  the  Bowery  boy, 
is  nearly  extinct.  He  is  seen  sometimes,  in  degenerate 
form  and  with  shorn  glory,  about  the  famous  theatre, 
and  in  the  cock  and  rat-pits  near  Houston  and  Grand 
streets.  But  his  crimson  shirt,  and  his  oiled  locks,  and 
his  peculiar  slang,  and  his  freedom  of  pugnacity,  and 
his  devotion  to  the  fire-engine  are  things  gone  by. 

The  places  that  knew  him  know  him  no  more.  He 
was  a  provincial  product,  the  growth  of  a  period.  The 
increase  of  the  city,  the  inroad  of  foreigners,  the  change 
in  customs,  and  especially  the  disbanding  of  the  volun- 
teer fire  department,  swept  the  Bowery  boy  from  his 
fastenings ;  and  he  is  a  waif  now  under  many  names — 
a  thief  at  the  Five  Points,  a  blackleg  in  Houston  street, 
a  politician  in  the  Fourth  or  Sixth  ward,  a  sober-settler 
in  the  great  West,  or  a  broker  in  Wall  street. 

The  Bowery  boy  proper  has  passed  away.  But  the 
Bowery  frets  and  cheats,  and  does  good  and  ill,  and 
has  its  wheat  and  chaff,  and  is  a  curious  study  still. 


CHAPTER  XIY. 
FORTUNE-TELLERS. 

The  age  of  superstition  lias  not  passed,  nor  will  it 
ever  pass  altogether. 

The  proof  of  this  is  in  the  fact  that  hundreds  of 
persons,  usually  women,  are  supported  here  by  the 
pretended  possession  of  supernatural  powers.  Those 
pretenders  call  themselves  spiritual  physicians,  clair- 
voyants, seers,  astrologers,  wizards,  oracles.  But  they 
may  all  be  classed  under  the  head  of  fortune-tellers ; 
for  their  attraction  is  in  their  claim  to  divine  the 
future,  and  anticipate  destiny. 

The  fortune-tellers  of  the  Metropolis  reside  mostly 
in  Division  street  or  the  Bowery,  though  they  are 
scattered  over  the  town  in  every  direction — advertis- 
ing their  location  and  their  special  powers  in  the 
morning  issues  of  the  Herald.  These  revealers  of 
fate,  as  I  have  said,  are  generally  women,  albeit  there 
are  men  who  find  it  profitable  to  play  the  charlatan  in 
that  way — -coining  a  livelihood  out  of  the  credulity  of 
the  million. 

To  read  the  absurd  advertisements  of  the  fortune- 
tellers, one  might  imagine  he  had  slipped  back  two  or 
three  centuries  in  time.  One  marvels  how  persons  can 
be  found  capable  of  believing  the  transparent  and 


Fortune-Tellers.  139 

worn-out  nonsense  about  seventh  daughters  and  sev- 
enth sons,  the  influence  of  Mars  and  Venus,  and  the 
strange  signs  in  the  house  o  f  life — talving  the  mind 
back  to  the  days  of  Paracelsus  and  Caliogstro,  before 
Positivism  had  overthrown  the  theories  of  dreamers 
and  the  delusions  of  madmen.  One  cannot  understand 
with  what  interest  and  curiosity  such  advertisements 
are  read ;  how  the  poor  and  the  distressed  grasp  at 
the  smallest  straws,  hoping  for  the  far-off  shore  of 
peace  and  comfort,  even  while  the  death-waters  are 
gurgling  in  their  ears. 

Men  long  for  wealth  and  power;  women  for  love 
and  beauty.  Facts  and  reason  influence  those ;  feel- 
ing and  imagination  these.  Hence  women  can  never 
quite  divest  themselves  of  superstition.  Their  hearts 
make  them  believe  in  miracles,  and  they  are  never 
entirely  sure  the  handsome  prince  they  read  of  in  the 
fairy  tale,  or  the  hero  they  worshiped  in  the  delightful 
romance  may  not  come  to  them  some  day,  and  claim 
them  for  his  own. 

The  would-be  witch  or  gipsy  who  says  she  can  tell 
a  woman,  if  unwedded,  who  her  husband  will  be — or, 
if  a  wife,  when  she  will  be  a  widow,  and  when  mar- 
ried again — appeals  to  her  sex  as  no  argument  and  no 
philosophy  can.  Consequently  the  patrons  of  fortune- 
tellers are  naturally  feminine,  and  are  to  be  found  in 
all  grades  of  life — in  servant-girls,  in  seamstresses,  in 
shop-girls,  and  in  the  daughters  of  wealth  and  fortune. 

They  are  all  alike  in  their  affections — all  dreamers 
and  idealists;  sympathetic  through  their  sentiment, 
and  sentimental  through  their  sympathy ;  clutching  at 
the  rainbow  of  happiness  as  if  its  mistiness  were  mat- 
ter. 


140  The  Great  Metropolis. 

Strange  to  an  unprejudiced  mind,  that  the  wonder 
working  creatures  who  know  where  treasures  are 
buried,  where  prizes  may  be  drawn,  and  how  fortunes 
are  to  be  made,  should  not  convert  their  knowledge  to 
their  own  advantage.  But  they  will  not ;  at  least  they 
do  not. 

While  living  in  dingy  rooms  in  unwholesome  neigh- 
borhoods, scant  of  food  and  raiment,  they  inform 
others  of  the  royal  road  to  wealth,  but  decline  to  jour- 
ney that  way  themselves.  They  are  devoted  to  their 
divine  science.  They  are  directors  to  the  goods  of  the 
World,  of  which  they  must  not  partake.  Their  souls 
are  very  rich  with  wisdom.  Their  hands  must  not  be 
full  of  lucre. 

This  is  Division  street,  where  architecture  and  clean- 
liness are  despised.  The  houses  are  old,  and  soiled, 
and  unwholesome.  Many  families  live  in  each  dwell- 
ing. Retail  shops  abound  in  the  quarter ;  and  all  look 
dusty,  stinted  and  starved. 

Second-hand  furniture  establishments,  porter-houses, 
quack-doctors,  green-groceries  stare  with  rheumy  eyes 
at  each  other  across  the  narrow  thoroughfares.  Rags 
and  rickety  signs  flutter  and  flap  in  the  unsavory  wind. 
Poverty,  and  trickery,  and  misfortune  abide  there 
evidently. 

Division  street  is  one  of  the  walls  to  which  the  weak 
and  woe-begone  are  driven  in  life's  hard  battle,  fought 
over  again  every  day. 

At  many  grim  doorways  are  smoky,  besmeared 
signs,  such  as  ''Fortunes  Told;"  "Madame  Belle, 
Astrologer;"  "Ida  May,  Clairvoyant;"  "Temple  of 
the  Unknown;"  "The  New  Oracle;"  "The  Great 
Arabian  Physician ;  "  "  Signora  Saviltari,  Italian  Con- 
jurer ; "  and  others  of  a  still  more  striking  character. 


Fortuxe-Tellers.  141 

Perhaps  at  the  entrance  of  these  abodes  of  the  mys- 
tagogues,  stands  an  uncombed,  unwashed  boy — as  un- 
weird  and  unmysterious  as  can  be  imagined — with 
misspelled  circulars  inviting  the  public,  especially  you, 
to  learn  the  secrets  of  the  future — whom  you  will 
marry  ;  when  you  will  die  ;  how  you  will  grow  rich — 
and  whatever  your  restless  spirit  hungers  to  know. 

You  go  up  the  uncarpeted  staircase,  and  pause 
before  a  begrimed  door,  behind  which  a  tin  or  painted 
sign  informs  you,  the  oracles  of  the  gods  are  dispensed. 
You  are  ordered  to  knock  or  ring;  and  you  do  so, 
with  no  other  shrinking  than  that  which  is  inspired  by 
bad  air,  aiid  an  unmistakable  hatred  on  the  premises 
of  soap  and  water. 

You  are  ushered  in  by  a  colored  woman,  who  requests 
you  to  be  seated,  and  says  her  mistress  will  soon  be 
disengaged.  You  place  yourself  upon  a  hard,  wooden 
chair,  whose  back  has  the  lumbago,  and  whose  legs  are 
infirm,  and  look  around  while  you  are  waiting. 

Nothing  but  bare  walls  and  a  strip  of  rag  carpet  in 
the  little  ante-room.  You  hear  a  murmur  of  voices  on 
the  other  side  of  the  thin  partition,  perhaps  a  monoto- 
nous shout,  and  soon  the  sound  of  a  bell,  and  the  sable 
portress  appears,  and  you  are  invited  to  enter  the 
presence  of  the  priestess,  who  unfolds  your  destiny 
for  a  dollar  in  currency,  whatever  the  fluctuation  of 
gold. 

Disappointment  greets  you  as  you  enter.  You  see 
no  paraphernalia  of  the  occult  art.  No  skulls,  nor 
bones,  nor  crucifixes,  nor  black  hangings  with  triangles 
or  circles  wrought  thereon  in  crimson  or  in  white ;  no 
retorts,  nor  strange  vessels  with  amber-hued  philtres ; 
no  large,  dark  volumes  with  iron  clasps ;  no  owls,  liv- 
ing or  stuffed ;  no  wand  or  instrument  of  magic. 


1±2  The  Great  Metropolis. 

Even  the  sorceress  is  artistically  a  failure.  Neither 
Ayesha  nor  Kefitah  is  she.  The  tall,  lithe  figure,  the 
dark,  piercing  eye,  the  deep,  solemn  voice,  you  look 
and  listen  for  in  vain. 

The  priestess  is  only  a  gross,  fleshy  slattern ;  and 
she  gives  out — must  I  confess  it? — such  an  odor  of 
onions  and  gin  that  you  are  convinced  she  is  more 
mortal  than  mystic.  Perhaps  she  is  an  Assyrian  or  an 
Arabian,  for  she  speaks  very  imperfect  English,  and 
with  a  nasal  accent  that  was  never  born  of  Delphos. 

She  looks  at  you  with  blood-shot  eyes,  and  says  with 
energy,  "  One  dollar,  sir,  for  gintlemen ; "  takes  up  a 
greasy  pack  of  cards,  and  proceeds  to  tell  your  for- 
tune. 

"Here's  a  black-haired  woman  and  a  light-haired 
woman.  Both  of  'em  is  in  love  with  you  very  bad. 
Both  of  'em  wants  to  marry  you.  The  light-haired 
woman's  jealous  like ;  but  t'other'll  be  yer  wife  sure." 

"  I'm  already  married,  madam,  and  to  a  second 
wife." 

"Then  the  black  hair '11  be  your  third.  Yis,  yis,  I 
see.  Here's  a  fun'ral.  Somebody's  goin'  to  die. 
That  must  be  your  present  wife.  Yis,  she  won't  live 
many  months,  I  see  in  these  here  cards." 

(I've  known  some  men  to  look  elated  over  this  dis- 
mal intelligence,  and  depart,  after  giving  the  fortune- 
teller an  extra  dollar,  without  waiting  to  hear  more.) 

"  You're  goin'  to  travel,  and  git  a  letter  from  a  dark- 
haired  man  who  seems  drunk ;  for  he's  upside  down 
in  the  pack.  Some  of  the  men  you've  knowed,  take 
too  much  wunst  in  a  while,  don't  they  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  come  here  to  impart  confidences,  madam." 

"  Oh,  well,  you  needn't  be  snappish.     It's  so,  any- 


Fortune-Tellers.  143 

how ;  for  the  cards  tells  it,  and  they  isn't  mistak'n  never. 
Let  me  see.  Here's  trouble  for  you — great  trouble 
about  money.  You  or  your  friends  is  goin'  to  lose 
somethin'.  Some  of  'em's  goin'  to  be  rich,  too,  though 
you  don't  believe  it.  There'll  be  a  death,  too,  in  your 
family.     Yis,  here's  a  coffin  and  a  hearse." 

"  Is  my  wife  to  die  twice  ?  " 

''No;  it  will  probably  be  one  of  your  children." 

"I  haven't  any  children." 

''Not  born  in  wedlock,  perhaps,  but  a  love-child 
you  mayn't  know  nothin'  about.  You  know  those 
kind  of  things  happens." 

"  Confound  it,  madam,  I'm  a  member  of  the  church." 

"  Church-members  is  mortal  like  the  rest  of  us." 

"Well,  I've  heard  enough  for  my  dollar." 
"If  you'll  pay  another,  I'll  tell  you  how  to  get  rich. 
Just  dip  your  finger  in  that  ere  tumbler  on  the  shelf, 
and  you'll " 

The  remainder  of  her  sentence  is  lost  by  the  closing 
of  the  door,  which  you  slam  behind  you,  disgusted  as 
you  descend  to  the  unpleasant  street. 

On  your  way  down,  you  meet  two  servant  girls, 
with  a  kind  of  awe-struck  appearance,  and  at  the  front 
door,  a  pale  seamstress  who  is  taking  her  last  dollar — 
she  was  two  whole  days  earning  it — to  the  gross  im- 
postor up  stairs. 

In  the  Bowery,  above  Prince  street,  a  more  preten- 
tious type  of  the  fortune-teller  may  be  seen.  Her 
surroundings  are  better,  and  her  charges  higher. 

"  Consultations  five  dollars,  and  strictly  confiden- 
tial," her  advertisements  read.  "  Patronized  by  the 
most  fashionable  people  in  New- York,"  too.  That  is 
something ;  for  one's  future  is  likely  to  be  better  when 
told  with  that  of  the  prosperous. 


144  The  Great  Metropolis. 

Handsome  carriages  often  stop  a  few  blocks  off,  and 
the  liveried  coachmen  wait  while  their  mistresses,  under 
pretence  of  visiting,  the  poor,  run  into  the  fortune- 
teller's abode. 

Much  ceremony  there,  and  an  effort  made  to  be 
impressive.  The  rooms  are  clean  and  spacious.  The 
principal  one  is  fitted  up  like  a  cabinet,  and  dimly 
lighted.  What  was  wanting  in  Division  street  is  pro- 
cured in  the  Bowery. 

Necromantic  symbols  are  abundant.  The  sorceress 
was  formerly  an  actress,  and  understands  stage  arrange- 
ments and  the  effect  of  character-costuming.  She 
dispenses  with  cards.  She  asks  her  patrons  their  age, 
their  place  of  nativity,  the  complexion  of  parents,  the 
number  of  children ;  inquires  about  moles  and  marks 
upon  the  body ;  looks  into  eyes,  and  examines  palms ; 
speaks  enigmatically,  and  assumes  the  profoundly  mys- 
terious, until  most  of  her  feminine  visitors  are  con- 
vinced she  is  a  perfect  witch,  and  prepared  to  believe 
all  she  tells  them. 

In  a  symbol-covered  black  or  crimson  robe,  which 
she  first  wore  in  some  spectacular  drama,  with  a  stuffed 
serpent  about  her  neck  and  a  crown  of  tinsel  on  her 
head,  she  talks  of  the  natal  planets,  of  Ormuzd  and 
Ahrimanes,  of  the  powers  of  darkness  and  the  angels 
of  light,  of  the  influence  of  the  stars,  and  the  destiny 
of  mortals ;  turns  a  sort  of  planetarium ;  handles  a 
skull ;  burns  a  powder  in  a  lamp  until  the  cabinet  is 
filled  with  white  and  crimson  lustre ;  assumes  to 
consult  a  horoscope  ;  buries  her  face  in  her  hands ; 
mutters  gibberish,  and  reveals  what  the  "supernal 
agencies"  have  whispered  to  the  "daughter  .of  the 
inexorable  Destinies." 


Fortune-Tellers.  145 

A  dozen  of  these  impostors  plj  a  prosperous  trade 
by  their  miimmerj.  Feminine  residents  of  Fifth  av- 
enue and  Twenty-third  street  go  to  the  theatrical 
magicians  with  full  faith,  and  have  their  lives  shaped 
not  seldom  by  what  is  told  them  amid  stage  surround- 
ings. 

Singular  as  it  may  seem,  men  of  business,  men  who 
deal  with  facts  and  figures,  who  despise  imagination 
and  laugh  at  romance,  visit  such  fortune-tellers,  at 
times,  to  be  told  of  the  future. 

Wall  street  operators  invest  five  dollars  to  determine 
if  they  shall  buy  gold  for  a  rise,  or  sell  Pacific  Mail 
short. 

Ship-owners  inquire  the  fate  of  vessels  over-due, 
before  they  obtain  extra  insurance. 

Church  dignitaries,  who  pretend  to  believe  in  noth- 
ing the  Bible  does  not  teach,  question  the  oracles  of 
the  Bowery,  touching  the  lucky  number  in  the  April 
lottery. 

Our  Gradgrinds  are  often  more  superstitious  than 
novel-reading  school-girls ;  and  the  men  who  despise 
the  fancies  of  poets,  are  deluded  with  the  shallowest 
tricks. 

The  trite  and  homely  proverb  which  says,  ''  Cheat- 
ing luck  never  thrives,"  seems  to  be  verified  in  the 
persons  of  our  fortune-tellers.  They  make  money  in 
various  ways.  They  are  purchasable  for  any  purpose 
almost.  They  act  as  accoucheuses  and  abortionists  on 
occasion.  They  will  consent  to  be  procuresses,  if  suf- 
ficient inducement  be  offered ;  will  assist  in  crime,  and 
hide  criminals,  whenever  their  palms  are  crossed  with 
silver.     Yet  they  are  generally  very  poor. 

They  are  most  ascetic  in  assumption ;  talk  of  fasting 

10 


lit)  The  Great  Metropolis. 

and  abstemiousness  and  spirituality  as  needful  to  their 
solution  of  mysteries  and  penetration  of  the  future. 

Practically  they  lead  loose  and  sensual  lives ;  have 
coarse  appetites  and  coarse  pleasures,  until  age  sets  in 
and  avarice  suppresses  other  passions. 

As  a  class,  fortune-tellers  are  unprincipled,  improvi- 
dent and  profligate.  Wickedness  is  rated  by  what  it 
can  pay,  and  a  full  purse  makes  atonement  for  the 
commission  of  sin.  Like  gamblers  and  cyprians,  what 
they  gain  they  do  not  keep.     Ill  come,  soon  gone. 

It  is  darkly  whispered  that  fashionable  women  often 
seek  the  fortune-tellers,  not  to  learn  what  will  be,  but 
to  consult  them  upon  what  has  been ;  that  the  determin- 
ers of  the  future  interfere  Avith  the  results  of  the  past, 
and  array  themselves  against  Nature,  instead  of  allying 
themselves  with  her  to  the  fullest. 

The  life  of  the  fortune-teller  is  hard.  If  she  sins, 
she  atones  by  penury,  and  ostracism,  and  isolation. 
She  subsists  by  her  wits,  and  subsists  poorly.  She 
shuffles  through  her  meagre  and  cheerless  years,  an 
object  alike  of  suspicion  and  of  contempt.  All  her 
pretended  gifts  avail  her  nothing.  Her  calling  is  a 
satire  on  herself.  Advertising  her  power  of  blessing, 
no  blessing  comes  to  her ;  and  she  exchanges  her 
draggled  gown  at  last  for  the  coarse  shroud  that  cov- 
ers her  with  charity,  and  shuts  her  away  from  woe  and 
want  forever. 

Many  of  the  seers  and  clairvoyants  are  not  only 
abortionists,  but  they  are  procuresses  and  the  agents 
of  bagnios.  They  are  often  directly  employed  by 
blacklegs  and  debauchees  to  secure  for  them  some 
pretty  and  unsophisticated  girl — one  from  the  country 
generally  preferred — and  liberally  paid  in  the  event 
of  success. 


Fortune-Tellers.  147 

The  scoundrels  visit  the  fortune-tellers,  and  leave 
several  of  their  photographs,  informing  the  hags  what 
they  want,  much  in  this  wise  : 

"  Can't  you  get  me  a  nice  girl,  madam  [all  of  their 
kind  are  madams] — a  really  plump  creature  that  has 
lately  come  to  town  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  It's  a  very  difficult  and  dan- 
gerous job.  The  police  might  find  it  out.  We're  all 
watched,  you  know  ;  and  if " 

"I'll  make  it  worth  your  while,  I've  got  money 
enough.  You  must  know  I  ^run  a  bank.'  Here's  $10 
to  begin  with.  Get  a  girl  that  suits  me,  and  you  shall 
have  five  times  as  much." 

"  Well,  since  you're  such  good  pay,  I'll  try  it ;  but 
I  won't  promise  positive.  I'm  afraid  you're  partic'lar. 
What  kind  of  eyes  and  hair,  light  or  dark  ?  " 

"I  don't  care  so  much  about  that.  I'd  rather  have 
a  black-eyed  woman  ;  but  it  doesn't  make  much  dif- 
ference, so  she's  nice  and  young.  You  know  a  pretty 
girl,  I'll  warrant.  I'll  trust  you.  Shall  we  call  it  a 
bargain  ?  " 

"Yes;  but  mind,  mister,  I  don't  promise  positive; 
and  then  you  must  promise  that  you  won't  do  anything 
to  make  a  row,  and  get  the  police  after  me ;  for  you 
know  I'm  a  hard-working  woman,  and  get  a  living 
honestly." 

"Of  course  you  do,  madame ;  so  do  I.  When  shall 
I  call  ?  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  0  Lord,  no !  You  don't  suppose  we  can  find  willin' 
beauties  every  minute,  do  you  ?  Come  in  'bout  a 
week.  Or,  give,  me  your  number,  and  I'll  drop  a  line 
to  you.  I'll  do  my  best ;  but  I  won't  promise ;  and 
remember,  I  won't  have  any  fuss.  Soon  as  I  get  on 
the  scent,  I'll  tell  you." 


148  The  Great  Metropolis. 

After  this  dialogue,  which  I  refrain  from  making  as 
vulgar  and  brutal  as  the  speakers  do,  the  faro-dealer 
goes  away;  feeling  assured,  to  use  his  elegant  lan- 
guage, that  ''he's  got  a  good  thing  of  it." 

The  very  moment  a  young  woman  appears  who  can 
boast  of  any  comeliness,  and  who  seems  friendless  or 
ingenuous,  the  seer  plies  her  so  adroitly  with  questions 
as  to  discover  all  she  wishes  to  know.  She  perceives 
that  the  desire  to  be  loved  is  in  her  heart  (in  what 
woman's  is  it  not  ?)  ;  so  she  talks  to  her  of  her  pretti- 
ness,  and  of  handsome  gentlemen  who  would  be  very 
fond  of  her,  if  they  only  knew  her,  etc.  Then  the 
girl's  fortune  is  told,  and  the  man  who  is  to  love  her  is 
described  according  to  the  photograph.  The  lover  is 
praised  to  the  skies,  and  the  girl  is  told  to  come  again 
to  have  everything  revealed  that  can't  be  revealed 
then  on  account  of  the  position  of  the  planets,  or  some 
such  flummery. 

Meantime  the  seer  sends  for  the  lecher,  and  he  con- 
tinues to  meet  the  victim,  who  finds  the  prediction  ful- 
filled, and  considers  it  her  destiny  to  adore  the  scoun- 
drel. He  flatters  her ;  declares  his  passion ;  makes  an 
appointment  with  her ;  prevails  upon  her  by  his  arts  ; 
uses  wine  or  opiates,  and  makes  her  wholly  his  before 
she  has  fully  recovered  from  her  bewilderment.  In  a 
few  weeks  the  villain  abandons  her,  and  she  either 
destroys  herself,  or  seeks  to  drown  memory  and  con- 
science in  a  life  of  shame. 

Few  persons  are  aware  to  what  an  extent  this  spe- 
cies of  debauchery  is  practiced.  Many  of  the  j)ro- 
prietresses  of  houses  of  prostitution  are  in  league  with 
the  fortune-tellers,  and  pay  them  for  every  poor  crea- 
ture that  falls  into  then'  clutches  through  the  super- 


Fortuxe-Tellers.  149 

natural  agents.  The  police  understand  this,  as  they  do 
most  of  the  villainies  of  the  city ;  but  they  are  often 
made  blind  and  deaf. 

God  help  the  poor  woman  who  comes  to  this  sinful 
City  penniless  and  unbefriended !  He  may  temper  the 
wind  to  the  shorn  lamb ;  but  He  protects  her  not  from 
the  villains  who  beset  her  path  on  every  side. 


CHAPTER    XY. 
THE    BOHEMIANS. 

The  term  Bohemian,  in  its  modern  sense,  has  been 
erroneously  applied  to  gipsies — the  wandering,  vaga- 
bond, aimless,  homeless  class,  who,  coming  originally 
from  India,  it  is  believed,  entered  Europe  in  the  four- 
teenth and  fifteenth  centuries  and  scattered  themselves 
through  Russia,  Hungary,  Spain  and  England. 

In  Paris,  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago,  the 
name  was  given  to  the  literary  and  artistic  people,  who 
were  as  clever  as  careless ;  who  lived  in  to-day,  and 
despised  to-morrow ;  who  preferred  the  pleasure  and 
the  triumph  of  the  hour  to  the  ease  of  prosperity  and 
the  assurance  of  abiding  fame.  Henri  Murger,  in  his 
Vie  de  BoMme^  first  gave  a  succinct  and  clear  account 
of  the  peculiarities,  habits  and  opinions  of  the  true 
Zingara ;  lived  the  life,  and  died  the  death,  he  had  sa^ 
eloquently  described  as  the  disposition  and  destiny  of 
his  class.  % 

Since  then,  all  persons  of  literary  or  artistic  pro- 
clivities, regardless  of  conventionality,  believing  in  the 
sovereignty  of  the  individual,  and  indifferent  to  the 
most  solemn  tone  of  Mrs.  Grundy,  have  received  the 
Bohemian  baptism.  Journalists  generally,  especially 
since  the  War  correspondents  during  the  Rebellion  re- 
ceived the  title,  have  been  called  Bohemians  all  the 


The  Bohemians.    •  151 

country  over,  and  will  be,  no  doubt,  until  the  end  of 
the  century. 

Bohemian,  particularly  in  New-York,  has  indeed 
come  to  be  a  sort  of  synonym  for  a  newspaper  writer, 
and  not  without  reason,  as  he  is  usually  no  favorite  of 
fortune,  and  his  gifts,  whatever  they  may  be,  rarely 
include  that  of  practicahty.  His  profession,  enabUng 
him  to  see  the  shams  of  the  World  and  the  hollowness 
of  reputation,  renders  him  indifferent  to  fame,  distrust- 
ful of  appearances,  and  skeptical  of  humanity.  He 
sinks  into  a  drudge,  relieved  by  spasms  of  brilliancy 
and  cynicism ;  rails  at  his  condition,  and  clings  to  it  te- 
naciously. Bohemians,  however,  are  older  than  Henri 
Murger,  or  the  fourteenth  century,  or  the  Christian  era. 
Alexander  of  Macedon,  Alcibiades,  Aspasia,  Hypatia, 
Cleopatra,  Mark  Antony  and  Julius  Cassar,  were  all 
Bohemians — splendid  and  dazzling  Bohemians,  the 
best  of  their  kind,  the  highest  exponents  of  the  antique 
school,  of  magnificent  powers,  and  melancholy,  but 
picturesque  endings. 

The  Bohemian  now-a-days  is  popularly  supposed  to 
be  a  man  of  some  culture  and  capacity,  who  ignores 
law  and  order ;  who  is  entirely  indifferent  to  public 
opinion ;  who  disregards  clean  linen,  his  word  or  his 
debts ;  who  would  borrow  the  last  dollar  of  his  best 
friend,  never  intending  to  repay  it,  and  glory  in  dis- 
honoring his  friend's  wife  or  sister. 

That  is  the  common  idea ;  but  I  am  glad  no  such 
class  exists,  however  many  individuals  there  may  be 
of  the  kind.  It  certainly  is  not  true  of  journalists, 
who  are  quite  as  honest  and  honorable  as  members  of 
any  other  profession,  and  who  continue  poor  enough 
to  prevent  any  suspicion  to  the  contrary. 


152  The  Great  Metropolis. 

The  Metropolis  does  contain  a  number  of  wretched 
men,  ill-paid — mostly  foreigners — who  act  occasionally 
as  reporters  for  the  daily  and  weekly  papers,  and  who 
are  driven  to  every  shift,  and  out  of  every  shirt,  by 
press  of  poverty  and  the  exigency  of  circumstance. 
They  are  not  journalists,  however,  any  more  than 
stage-sweepers  are  dramatic  artists.  They  are  to  be 
pitied,  though,  in  spite  of  their  faults,  for  which  society 
and  temperament  are  in  the  main  responsible. 

The  original  Bohemians,  in  this  City  and  country 
were  fifteen  or  twenty  journalists,  the  greater  part  of 
them  young  men  of  ability  and  culture,  who  desired, 
particularly  in  regard  to  musical  and  dramatic  criti- 
cism, to  give  tone  and  color  to,  if  not  to  control,  the 
public  press,  not  from  any  mercenary  consideration, 
but  from  an  earnest  intellectual  egotism.  They  had 
their  rise  and  association  about  twelve  years  ago,  and 
flourished  up  to  the  commencement  of  the  War,  which 
broke  up  the  Bohemian  fraternity,  not  only  here,  but 
in  other  cities. 

At  their  head,  as  well  by  age  as  experience  and  a 
certain  kind  of  domineering  dogmatism,  was  Henry 
Clapp,  Jr.,  who  had  been  connected  with  a  dozen  pa- 
pers, and  who  was  one  of  the  first  to  introduce  the 
personal  style  of  Paris  feuilleton  into  the  literary 
weeklies.  He  was  nearly  twice  as  old  as  most  of  his 
companions ;  was  witty,  skeptical,  cynical,  daring,  and 
had  a  certain  kind  of  magnetism  that  drew  and  held 
men,  though  he  was  neither  in  person  nor  manner, 
what  would  be  i^  illed  attractive. 

Soon  after  the  inception  of  the  informal  society,  he 
established  the  Saturday  Press^  to  which  the  brother- 
hood contributed  for  money  when  they  could  get  it, 


The.  Bohemians.  153 

and  for  love  when  money  could  not  be  had.  The 
Saturday  Press  was  really  the  raciest  and  brightest 
weekly  ever  published  here.  It  often  sparkled  with 
wit,  and  always  shocked  the  orthodox  with  its  irrever- 
ence and  "dangerous"  opinions. 

Clapp  kept  up  the  paper  for  a  year,  when  it  was 
suspended.  After  its  death  he  twice  revived  it ;  but 
its  brilliancy  would  not  keep  it  alive  without  business 
management,  and  it  was  too  independent  and  icono- 
clastic to  incur  the  favor  of  any  large  portion  of  the 
community. 

The  third  attempt  to  establish  the  Press  failed  about 
three  years  since ;  and  Clapp,  bitter  from  his  many 
failures,  now  lives  a  careless  life ;  writes  epigramatic 
paragraphs  and  does  the  dramatic  for  one  of  the  week- 
lies. He  is  stated  to  be  over  fifty ;  but  his  mind  is 
vigorous  as  ever,  his  tongue  as  fluent,  and  his  pen  as 
sharp. 

E.  G.  P.  ("Ned")  Wilkins,  of  the  Herald,  was  an- 
other prominent  member  of  the  fraternity,  and  one  of 
the  few  attaches  of  that  journal  who  have  ever  gained 
much  individual  reputation.  He  was  a  pungent  and 
strong  writer,  at  the  same  time  correct  and  graceful, 
and  had  the  requisite  amount  of  dogmatism  and  self- 
consciousness  to  render  him  acceptable  to  his  guild  and 
satisfactory  to  himself  When  he  promised  far  better 
things  than  he  had  ever  performed,  he  died,  leaving 
no  other  record  than  the  file  of  newspapers — ^^the  silent 
history  of  countless  unremembered  men  of  genius. 

William  Winter,  who  came  here  from  Boston,  after 
graduating  at  Harvard,  because  he  believed  New- York 
offered  the  best  field  for  writers,  was  a  contributor  to  the 
Saturday  Press  and  other  weeklies ;  composed  many 
clever  poems,  and  did  whatever  literary  work  he  could 


154  The  Great  Metropolis. 

find  at  hand ;  supporting  himself  comfortably  by  his 
pen,  and  gaining  considerable  reputation,  particularly 
as  a  poet.  A  few  years  ago  he  married  a  literary  wo- 
man and  has  not  since  been  much  of  a  Bohemian ;  for 
Hymen  is  an  enemy  to  the  character,  and  domesticity 
its  ultimate  destroyer.  He  is  now  dramatic  critic  of 
the  Tribune,  and  a  very  hard  worker;  deeming  it  a 
duty  to  perform  whatever  labor  comes  to  him  with- 
out seeking. 

Edward  H.  House,  for  years  connected  with  the 
Tribune,  was  a  fourth  friend  of  Clapp  and  also  a 
Saturday  Press  contributor.  He  has  quitted  journal- 
ism, at  least  for  the  time,  and  made  a  good  deal  of 
money,  it  is  said,  by  sharing  the  authorship  of  some, 
and  being  the  agent  in  this  country  of  all  of  Bouci- 
cault's  plays.  House  is  a  good  fellow,  handsome,  well- 
bred,  winning  in  manners ;  is  still  a  bachelor ;  does 
little  work. and  gets  a  good  deal  for  it;  and  enjoys 
himself  as  a  man  of  the  World  ought 

Fitz  James  O'Brien,  who  made  his  debut  in  the  lit- 
erary world,  as  the  author  of  Diamond  Lens  in  the 
Atlantic  Monthly  ten  years  ago,  and  who  was  a  gener- 
ous, gifted,  rollicking  Irishman,  was  one  of  the  cardi- 
nals in  the  high  church  of  Bohemia,  until  the  breaking 
out  of  the  War.  He  entered  the  field  and  distinguished 
himself  for  desperate  courage  until  he  was  killed  in 
Virginia  and  forgotten.  O'Brien  had  a  warm  heart,  a 
fine  mind  and  a  liberal  hand ;  but  he  was  impulsive  to 
excess  and  too  careless  of  his  future  for  his  own  good. 

Charles  F.  Browne,  having  been  made  famous 
through  his  '^Artemus  Ward''  articles  while  local  editor 
of  the  Cleveland  (0.)  Plaindealer,  and  come  to  the  Me- 


The  Bohemians.  155 

tropolis,  where  clever  men  naturally  tend,  worked  to 
advantage  his  droll  vein  for  the  Saturday  Press ^  Vanity 
Fair  and  Mrs.  Grundy.  He  was  a  pure  Bohemian, 
thoroughly  good-natured,  incapable  of  malice  toward 
any  one,  with  a  capacity  for  gentleness  and  tenderness, 
like  a  woman's,  open-handed,  imprudent,  seeing  every- 
thing at  a  queer  angle,  and  always  wondering  at  his 
own  success.  He  drew  about  him  in  New-York  a 
number  of  the  knights  of  the  quill ;  gained  their  es- 
teem and  affection,  and  left  a  vacancy  in  the  circle  and 
their  sympathies  when  his  kindly  soul  went  out  across 
the  sea. 

George  Arnold  was  a  very  clever  writer  in  prose 
and  verse,  a  regular  contributor  to  the  Saturday  Press., 
and  remarkable  for  his  versatility.  He  had  many 
gifts;  was  good-lookiug,  graceful,  brilliant.  His  easy, 
almost  impromptu  poems,  full  of  sweetness  and  sug- 
gestive sadness,  have  been  published  since  his  death, 
which  took  place  three  years  ago,  and  been  widely 
admired.  He  sang  in  a  careless  way  the  pleasures  and 
the  pains  of  love,  the  joys  of  wine,  the  charm  of  in- 
dolence, the  gayety  and  worthlessness  of  existence  in 
the  true  Anacreontic  vein.  From  such  a  tempera- 
ment as  his,  earnest  and  continued  exertion  was  not  to 
be  expected.  Like  Yoiture  he  trifled  life  away  in 
pointed  phrases  and  tuneful  numbers ;  but  gained  a 
large  circle  of  devoted  friends.  At  three  and  thirty 
he  slipped  out  of  the  World  which  had  been  much 
and  little  to  him,  and  left  behind  him  many  sincere 
mourners  who  speak  of  him  still  with  words  of  love 
and  moistened  eyes.  ^ 

William  North,  a  young  Englishman, — he  had  quar- 
reled with  his  parents  who  were  wealthy,  and  come 


156  The  Great  Metropolis. 

to  this  country  to  live  by  his  pen, — was  also  of  the 
Bohemian  tribe.  He  found  the  struggle  harder  than 
he  had  anticipated ;  for,  though  a  man  of  talent  and 
culture,  he  lacked  directness  of  purpose  and  capacity 
for  continuous  work.  His  disappointment  soured  him, 
and  poverty  so  embittered  his  sensitive  nature  that  he 
destroyed  himself,  leaving  a  sixpence,  all  the  money 
he  had,  and  the  "  Slave  of  the  Lamp,"  a  manuscript 
novel,  which  he  had  not  been  able  to  sell,  but  for 
which  the  notoriety  of  the  mournful  tragedy  secured 
a  publisher. 

Mortimer  Thompson,  who  had  become  a  popular 
humorist  under  the  sobriquet  of  '^Doesticks,"  and  who 
was  at  the  hight  of  his  popularity,  was  a  Bohemian  in 
those  days,  and  consorted  with  the  clever  crew.  He 
was  then  a  member  of  the  Tribune  staff.  Since  that 
time  he  has  been  a  war  correspondent ;  had  various 
changes  of  fortune,  and  no  longer  enjoys  his  old  fame. 
He  still  lives  in  New- York,  however,  and  does  the 
drollery  for  some  of  the  weekly  papers  over  his  old  nom 
de  plume. 

Charles  Dawson  Shanly,  a  well-known  litteirateur, 
Harry  Neal  (deceased),  Frank  Wood  (deceased),  con- 
tributors to  Vanity  Fair  and  other  publications  of 
the  time,  Charles  B.  Seymour,  now  dramatic  critic  of 
the  Times^  Franklin  J.  Ottarson,  for  five  and  twenty 
years  a  city  journalist,  nearly  all  of  which  he  has 
spent  in  the  servive  of  the  Tribune  j  Charles  Gay- 
ler,  a  playwright ;  John  S.  Dusolle  of  the  Sunday  Times., 
and  others  were  members  of  the  fraternity.  They  met 
frequently  at  Pfaff's  restaurant.  No.  653  Broadway ; 
had  late  suppers,  and  were  brilliant  with  talk  over 
beer  and  pipes  for  several  years.     Those  were  merry 


The  Bohemians.  157 

and  famous  nights,  and  many  bright  conceits  and  wit- 
ticisms were  discharged  over  the  festive  board. 

The  Bohemians  had  feminine  companions  at  Pfaft's 
frequently.  There  was  Ada  Clare,  known  as  here  then 
as  the  queen  of  Bohemia,  and  of  course  a  writer  for 
the  Saturday  Press.  She  was  of  Irish  extraction ;  a 
large-hearted  eccentric  woman  who  had  property  in 
the  South,  but  lost  it  during  the  War.  She  afterward 
published  a  novel,  "Only  a  Woman's  Heart,"  said  to 
have  been  a  transcript  of  some  of  her  own  experiences, 
and  went  upon  the  stage.  The  last  heard  of  her  she 
was  playing  in  a  Galveston  (Texas)  theatre,  and  had 
been  married  to  the  manager.  There  was  a  pretty 
little  creature,  known  as  Getty  Gay,  probably  an  as- 
sumed name,  and  Mary  Fox,  both  actresses ;  Jennie 
Danforth,  a  writer  for  the  weekly  journals;  Annie 
Deland,  still  on  the  boards,  and  Dora  Shaw,  who  was  the 
best  Camille  on  the  American  stage.  The  ill-fated 
Adah  Menken,  also  went  to  Pfaff s  occasionally ;  and 
altogether  the  coterie  enjoyed  itself  intellectually  and 
socially  as  no  coterie  has  since.  But  all  that  has  passed 
now. 

The  War,  as  I  have  said,  interfered  with  Bohemian 
progress.  Many  have  become  apostates  now,  and 
others  deny  all  connection  with  the  fraternity.  The 
order  in  its  old  form  is  practically  extinct ;  but  with- 
out the  distinguishing  name  or  any  organization,  but 
better,  and  higher,  and  freer,  and  purer,  it  exists,  and 
does  good,  though  it  may  be  invisible,  work. 

I  might  give  a  long  list  of  city  writers  and  journal- 
ists well  known  throughout  the  country,  who  are  Bo- 
hemians in  the  best  sense,  but  who  dislike  the  title 
because  so  many  unworthy  persons  have  made  the 
name  repulsive  by  claiming  it  as  theirs. 


158  The  Great  Metropolis. 

Certain  reporters  are  largely  of  the  pseudo-Bohe- 
mian class,  and  do  more  to  degrade  journalism  than  all 
the  worthy  members  of  the  profession  to  elevate  and 
purify  it.  And  for  the  reason  that  the  former  are  im- 
pudent, sycophantic  and  unprincipled,  while  the  latter 
are  modest,  independent  and  honorable.  If  newspa- 
per proprietors  would  adopt  the  wise  policy  of  employ- 
ing good  men  at  good  salaries,  the  disreputable  class 
would  find  their  level  and  cease  to  be  a  nuisance,  at 
least  in  the  vicinity  of  Prin ting-House  Square. 

The  true  disciples  are  men  and  women  who  are 
charitable  where  the  World  condemns ;  who  protect 
where  society  attacks;  who  have  the  capacity  and 
courage  to  think  for  themselves ;  the  earnestness  and 
truthfulness  to  unmask  shams ;  the  faith  to  believe  sin 
the  result  of  ignorance,  and  love  and  culture  eternal 
undoers  of  evil  and  of  wrong.  They  honestly  dis- 
charge every  duty  and  every  debt.  Their  ways  are 
pleasant  and  their  manners  sweet.  They  are  misun- 
derstood because  they  are  in  aivance  of  the  time,  and 
have  comprehensive  views  the  great  mass  cannot  take. 

Such  Bohemians  are  found  in  the  pulpit,  on  the 
bench,  on  the  tripod ;  and  every  day  they  are  increas- 
ing the  area  of  Thought,  the  breadth  of  Charity,  the 
depth  of  Love.  Children  of  Nature,  they  go  not  about 
with  solem  faces,  declaring  after  the  common  fashion, 
the  degeneracy  of  the  age  and  the  wickedness  of  hu- 
manity. They  have  a  hope  and  creed  born  of  reason 
and  spiritual  insight;  believing  that  God  and  Good 
are  identically  the  same  ;  that  Progress  is  onward  and 
upward  forever  and  ever. 


CHAPTER  XYI. 
THE    LAGER-BEER     GARDENS. 

The  difference  between  a  lager -beer  saloon  and  a 
lager-beer  garden  among  our  German  fellow-citizens  is 
very  slight ;  the  garden,  for  the  most  part,  being  a 
creation  of  the  brain.  To  the  Teutonic  fancy,  a  hole 
in  a  roof,  a  fir-tree  in  a  tub,  and  a  sickly  vine  or  two 
in  a  box,  creeping  feebly  upward  unto  death,  consti- 
tute a  garden.  Perhaps  their  imagination  is  assisted 
by  their  potations,  more  copious  than  powerful,  which 
enable  it  to  conjure  up  groves  and  grottoes,  and  walks, 
and  fountains  that  are  not  there  in  reality.  Be  this  as 
it  may,  the  Germans  accept  what  is  called  a  garden  as 
such,  and  neither  criticise  nor  complain  of  its  striking 
inadequacies. 

New-York,  probably,  has  a  German  population  of 
one  hundred  and  fifty  to  two  hundred  thousand;  and 
it  is  a  part  of  the  social  duty  of  every  one  of  these,  if 
not  a  point  in  his  worldly  religion,  to  drink  beer, — the 
quantity  varying  with  the  intensity  of  his  nationality. 
Germans  and  beer  are  related  to  each  other  as  cause 
and  effect;  and,  one  given,  the  other  must  follow  of  ne- 
cessity. 

Manhattan,  from  the  battery  to  Harlem  bridge,  is 
covered  with  beer-saloons  and  gardens.  They  are  in 
longitudinal  and  lateral  directions,  in  the  broad  thor- 


160  The  Great  Metropolis. 

oughfares  of  Broadway  and  Third  avenue,  and  in  the 
out-of-the-way  and  narrow  quarters  of  Ann  and  Thames 
streets.  The  whole  island  literally  foams  and  froths 
with  the  national  beverage  of  Rhineland;  and,  from 
sunrise  until  midnight,  (Sunday  excepted,  if  you  have 
faith  in  the  Excise  Law),  the  amber  hued  liquid  flows 
constantly  from  more  than  ten  thousand  kegs,  and  is 
poured  into  twenty  times  as  many  thirsty  throats,  and 
highly-eupeptic  and  capacious  stomachs. 

There  must  be  in  New-York  three  or  four  thousand 
lager-beer  establishments,  kept  and  patronized  almost 
exclusively*by  Germans,  who  tend  to  beer-selling  in 
this  country  as  naturally  as  Italians  to  image-making 
and  organ-grinding.  These  establishments  are  of  all 
sizes  and  kinds,  from  the  little  hole  in  the  corner,  with 
one  table  and  two  chairs,  to  such  extensive  concerns 
as  the  Atlantic  garden,  in  the  Bowery,  and  Hamilton 
and  Lyon  parks,  in  the  vicinity  of  Harlem,  not  to  men- 
tion their  superabundance  in  Jersey- City,  Hoboken, 
Brooklyn,  Hudson-City,  Weehawken  and  every  other 
point  within  easy  striking  distance  of  the  Metropolis 
by  rail  and  steam. 

Of  course,  Sunday  is  the  day  of  all  the  week  for 
patronage  of  such  places,  for  Teutonic  recreation  and 
bibulous  enjoyment;  and  hence  the  bitter  opposition 
to  the  Excise  Law  on  the  part  of  the  Germans,  the 
greater  part  of  whom  are  Republicans,  but  who  are  not 
less  hostile  on  that  account  to  the  Republican  measure. 
They  are  determined  to  have  beer  on  Sundays,  and 
are  making  every  possible  effort  to  render  the  odious 
law  inoperative  by  declaring  it  unconstitutional.  They 
have  opened  their  purses  wide,  which  they  rarely  do 
unless  terribly  in  earnest,  to  regain  what  they  believe 


The  Lager-Beer  Gardens  161 

to  be  their  rights;  and  they  will  never  cease  agitating 
the  question  until  permitted  to  absorb  beer  when, 
where,  and  to  what  extent  they  please. 

The  question,  Will  lager-beer  intoxicate?  first  arose, 
I  believe,  on  this  island,  and,  very  naturally  too,  con- 
sidering the  quality  of  the  manufactured  article.  I  have 
sometimes  wondered,  however,  there  could  be  any 
question  about  it,  so  inferior  in  every  respect  is  the 
beer  made  and  sold  in  the  Metropolis.  It  is  undoubt- 
edly the  worst  in  the  United-States — weak,  insipid, 
unwholesome,  and  unpalatable;  but  incapable  of  in- 
toxication, I  should  judge,  even  if  a  man  could  hold 
enough  to  float  the  Dunderberg.  It  is  impossible  to 
get  a  good  glass  of  beer  in  New- York,  and  persons 
who  have  not  drank  it  in  the  West  have  no  idea  what 
poor  stuff  is  here  called  by  the  name. 

One  would  suppose  the  vast  body  of  Germans  in 
this  City  would  insist  upon  having  excellent  lager;  but 
they  do  not.  They  seem  quite  satisfied  with  the  thin, 
semi-nauseating  liquid  that  tastes  generally  as  if  it  were 
the  product  of  aloes,  brown-soap  and  long-standing 
Croton ;  and  are  not  nauseated  over  its  excessive  ab- 
sorption. 

Peradventure  they  regard  it  as  they  do  their  "gar- 
dens,"— idealize  it  completely.  Their  palate  tells  them 
it  is  a  wretched  cheat ;  an  insult  to  the  German  sense 
of  appreciation ;  an  indignity  offered  to  their  digestion. 
But  their  imagination  makes  it  what  they  like;  and 
they  drain  their  glasses  with  the  flavor  of  their  fancy 
moistening  their  lips. 

The  Germans  are  an  eminently  gregarious  and  social 
people,  and  all  their  leisure  is  combined  with  and  com- 
prehends lager.  They  never  dispense  with  it.  They 
u 


1()2  The  Great  Metropolis. 

drink  it  in  the  morning,  at  noon,  in  tlie  evening  and 
late  at  night;  during  their  labors  and  their  rest;  alone 
and  with  their  friends;  and  yet  we  never  hear  of  their 
floating  away  upon  the  swollen  stream  of  their  own  imbi- 
bitions, or  of  their  ribs  cracking  and  falling  off,  like 
the  hoops  of  barrels,  from  over-expansion.  The  chief 
end  of  man  has  long  been  a  theme  of  discussion  among 
theologians  and  philosophers.  The  chief  end  of  that 
portion  who  emigrate  from  Fatherland  is  to  drink  lager, 
under  all  circumstances  and  on  all  occasions;  and  the 
end  is  faithfully  and  perseveringly  carried  out. 

The  drinking  of  the  Germans,  however,  is  free  from 
the  vices  of  the  Americans.  The  Germans  indulge  in 
their  lager  rationally,  even  when  they  seem  to  carry 
indulgence  to  excess.  They  do  not  squander  their 
means;  they  do  not  waste  their  time;  they  do  not 
quarrel ;  they  do  not  fight ;  they  do  not  ruin  their  own 
hopes  and  the  happiness  of  those  who  love  them,  as 
do  we  of  hotter  blood,  finer  fibre,  and  intenser  organ- 
ism. They  take  lager  as  we  do  oxygen  into  our  lungs, — 
appearing  to  live  and  thrive  upon  it.  Beer  is  one  of 
the  social  virtues;  Gambrinus  a  patron  saint  of  every 
family, — the  protecting  deity  of  every  well-regulated 
household. 

The  Germans  combine  domesticity  with  their  dissi- 
pation,— it  is  that  to  them  literally, — taking  with  them 
to  the  saloon  or  garden  their  wives  and  sisters  and 
sweethearts,  often  their  children,  who  are  a  check  to 
any  excess  or  impropriety,  and  with  whom  they  depart 
at  a  seemly  hour,  overflowing  with  beer  and  honhom- 
mie^  possessed  of  those  two  indispensables  of  peace — 
an  easy  mind  and  a  perfect  digestion. 

Look  at  them  as  they  once  were,  and  will  be  agaia, 


The  Lager-Beer  Gardens.  163 

in  Lyon  or  Hamilton  park,  on  a  Sunday  afternoon  or 
evening.  They  are  assembled  at  the  popular  resort  to 
the  number  of  four  or  five  thousand, — men,  women  and 
children,  persons  of  every  grade  and  calling,  but  all 
speaking  the  same  language  and  liking  the  same  drink, 
which  perhaps,  more  than  aught  else,  makes  them  a 
homogeneous  and  sympathetic  people.  How  entirely 
contented,  and  even  joyous,  are  they!  The  humblest 
and  hardest  toilers  are  radiant  with  self-satisfaction,  as 
if  there  were  neither  labor  nor  care  to-morrow.  They 
drink,  and  laugh  and  chat  energetically  and  boister- 
ously, as  if  they  really  relished  it,  and  smoke,  and  sing 
and  dance,  and  listen  appreciatively  to  music,  day  after 
day,  and  night  after  night,  never  tiring  of  their  pleas- 
ures, never  seeking  for  a  change. 

Their  life  is  simple,  and  included  within  a  little 
round.  Dyspepsia  and  nervous  disorders  trouble  them 
not.  Every  day  they  labor;  every  night  they  rest, 
laying  a  solid  bar  of  sleep  between  the  days;  each 
year  adding  something  to  their  worldly  store ;  always 
living  below  their  means;  thrilled  by  no  rapturous 
glow ;  disturbed  by  no  divine  ideals ;  speculative,  but 
calm ;  thoughtful,  but  healthy ;  comfortable,  but  thrifty; 
resolved  to  have  and  own  something,  if  years  are  given 
to  them,  and  making  their  resolution  good  in  real  es- 
tate, brick  houses,  and  government  securities. 

How  can  they  enjoy  themselves  so?  think  the  pale, 
taciturn,  eager-looking  Americans  at  the  table  oppo- 
site. What  do  they  find  to  talk  about  so  volubly,  and 
laugh  at  so  loudly?  How  eloquent  and  witty  they 
must  be! 

Neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  you  will  discover,  if 
you  listen.  They  are  simple  as  Arcadians.    Little  things 


164  The  Great  Metropolis. 

amuse,  trifles  interest  them.  The  commonest  circum- 
stances, the  mere  mention  of  which  would  weary  you, 
my  American  friend,  are  subjects  of  protracted  discus- 
sion ;  and  they  roar  over  what  would  seem  to  you  the 
merest  insipidities.  You  may  be  as  witty  as  Voltaire 
and  sparkling  as  Rochefoucault  to  your  companions. 
They  only  smile  and  look  bored  again.  The  most 
expensive  wines  stand  untasted  before  you.  The  great 
glory  of  the  night,  and  the  beauties  of  Beethoven  and 
Mozart  fall  upon  you  and  your  friends  unmoved;  while 
'your  German  neighbors  drink  them  all  in  with  their 
lager,  and  burst  into  rapturous  applause 

Subtle  influences  those  of  race  and  temperament, 
which  nothing  can  change !  Ours  is  a  melancholy 
brotherhood  over  whom  the  Starry  Banner  waves,  and 
we  have  purchased  our  freedom  and  progress  at  the 
price  of  much  of  our  content.  Lager  delights  you 
not,  nor  Limberger  either;  and  the  centuries-distant 
blood  of  Qj]dipus  is  in  your  veins. 

It  is  a  goodly  sight  to  see  the  Germans,  who  eat  and 
drink,  but  eat  as  they  do  everything  else,  with  a  pur- 
pose. No  elaborate  dainties,  no  recJiercJie  viands,  no 
delicate  entremets  for  them.  Brown-bread  and  cara- 
way seed,  sweitzerkase  and  Limberger,  which  no  nos- 
tril or  stomach  out  of  Germany  can  endure,  solid  ham, 
Bologna  sausage  and  blood-puddings  appease  their 
vigorous  appetites,  and  preserve  their  ruddy  health ; 
while  pipes  of  strong  and  by  no  means  choice  tobacco 
yield  them  all  the  repose  they  require. 

What  a  racket  they  keep  up  in  the  pauses  of  the 
music,  even  while  it  is  being  played.  Food,  and  drink, 
and  talk,  and  laughter,  hour  after  hour.  They  raise 
their  voices;  they  grow  red  in  the  face;  they  gesticu- 


The  Lager-Beer  Gardens.  165 

late;  they  strike  the  tcables;  they  seem  on  the  point  of 
mortal  conflict ;  and  an  American  who  knew  them  not 
would  believe  murder  was  about  to  be  committed. 

But  it  is  only  their  way.  They  are  merely  discuss- 
ing the  last  masquerade,  or  the  claims  of  Sigel  to  mil- 
itary reputation.  Another  round  of  lager — each  per- 
son pays  for  his  own  glass — will  mollify  any  asperity 
that  may  have  arisen.  Another  plate  of  sweitzer  will 
change  the  theme,  if  it  be  an  unpleasant  one,  and  a 
cabbage-leaf  cigar  will  dissolve  into  thin  air  the  last 
traces  of  ill-temper. 

The  Atlantic  Garden  is  a  favorite  resort  of  the  Ger- 
mans, and  one  of  the  noticeable  places  of  New- York. 
It  is  all  under  cover,  and  capable  of  accommodating 
twenty-five  hundred  or^three  thousand  people.  It  has 
a  large  bar-room  in  front,  and  smaller  ones  inside ;  a 
shooting  gallery,  billiard  and  bowling  saloons,  a  huge 
orchestrion,  which  performs  during  the  day,  and  a  fine 
band  that  gives  selections  from  celebrated  composers 
during  the  evening..  The  entire  place  is  filled  with 
small  tables  and  benches,  which,  are  crowded  every 
evening  with  drinkers  and  smokers.  A  confusion  of 
ringing  glasses,  of  loud  voices  speaking  German  in 
high  key,  of  laughter  and  strains  of  soft  music,  float  up 
through  tobacco  smoke  to  the  arched  roof  until  mid- 
night, when  the  musicians  put  away  their  instruments, 
the  lights  are  turned  out,  and  the  vast  place  is  locked 
up. 

The  Atlantic  is  the  most  cosmopolitan  place  of  en- 
tertainment in  the  City ;  for,  though  the  greater  part 
of  its  patrons  are  Germans,  every  other  nationality  is 
represented  there.  French,  Irish,  Spaniards,  English, 
Italians,  Portuguese,  even  Chinamen  and  Indians,  may 


166  The  Great  Metropolis. 

be  seen  througli  the  violet  atmosphere  of  the  famous 
Atlantic;  while  Americans,  who  have  learned  to  like 
lager — even  that  made  in  Gotham — and  who  are  fond 
of  music,  sit  at  the  little  tables,  and  look  like  doomed 
spirits  beside  their  round-faced,  square-browed,  jolly- 
neighbors.  Much  may  be  had  there  for  little,  which 
is  less  recommendation  to  the  Americans  than  to  the 
Germans;  and  they  who  desire  cheap  concerts — one 
may  sit  there  all  the  evening  without  a  single  glass  of 
beer,  if  he  is  so  minded — can  have  them  every  evening 
in  the  year. 

With  all  their  industry,  and  economy,  and  thrift,  the 
Germans  find  ample  leisure  to  enjoy  themselves,  and 
at  little  cost.  Their  pleasures  are  never  expensive. 
They  can  obtain  more  for  $1  than  an  American  for 
$10,  and  can,  and  do,  grow  rich  upon  what  our  people 
throw  away.  They  are  odd  compounds  of  sentiment 
and  materialism,  of  poetry  and  prose,  of  generous 
emotion  and  narrow  life,  of  affection  and  selfishness,  of 
dullness  and  shrewdness,  of  romance  and  practicality, 
of  opposites  of  many  kinds,  but  altogether  blending 
into  praiseworthy  prudence,  honesty,  industry  and  en- 
terprise. They  are  always  endeavoring  to  improve 
their  condition;  and,  from  their  constant  self-seeking, 
they  soon  acquire  property,  carefully  educate  their 
children,  ally  their  descendants  to  those  of  Anglo- 
Saxon  blood,  and  in  a  few  generations  become  as  thor- 
oughly American  as  the  Americans  themselves. 


CHAPTER   XYII. 

THE     CHURCHES. 

The  churches  are  a  power  in  New- York.  They  are 
excellent  in  themselves,  and  but  for  them  the  City 
would  be  much  worse  than  it  is ;  for  they  have  a  re- 
straining influence  upon  the  community,  and  compel 
Vice  to  pay  a  certain  deference  to  Virtue. 

The  Metropolis  has  about  five  hundred  churches, 
of  almost  every  denomination  under  the  sun,  and  the 
value  of  the  entire  church  property  on  the  island  is. 
estimated  at  $300,000,000.  Much  of  the  most  desira- 
ble real  estate  here  is  owned  by  ecclesiastical  societies, 
and  additions  to  it  are  constantly  being  made.  Trin- 
ity corporation  alone  is  said  to  be  worth  $60,000,000, 
and  yet  its  members  feel  so  very  poor  that  they  fre- 
quently solicit  charity,  and  never  ring  the  chimes  on 
secular  festal  days  without  compelling  the  City  to  pay 
for  the  discordant  and  painfully  monotonous  tintinnab- 
ulation. 

The  architecture  of  the  churches  is  an  ornament  to 
New-York,  and  the  grounds  surrounding  them  are  among 
the  handsomest  here.  Few  private  churches  can  afford  to 
occupy  so  much  space  as  the  religious  edifices  do, — 
perhaps  because  the  orthodox  who  are  truly  charitable 
reverse  the  expression,  believing  they  lend  to  the  poor 
hj  giving  to  the  Lord.     It  is  certainly  creditable  to 


168  The  Great  Metropolis. 

tlie  churches  that  they  are  willing  to  retain  such  ample 
inclosures,  even  in  the  heart  of  the  Metropolis,  instead 
of  selling  them,  as  is  so  often  done  elsewhere.  There 
must  be  some  faith  in  and  some  reverence  for  religion 
when  it  is  superior  to  pecuniary  interests;  for  the 
purse-strings  are  often  drawn  so  tigTit  as  to  strangle 
the  soul. 

Broadway,  Fifth  avenue.  Twenty- third,  and  other 
principal  streets  can  boast  of  the  finest  and  most  ex- 
pensive churches  in  the  country.  Their  elaborateness 
and  elegance  are  not  confined  to  sect  either ;  for  the 
Presbyterians,  the  Episcopalians,  the  Baptists,  the 
Methodists  and  Catholics  vie  with  each  other  in  rear- 
ing showy  temples  in  honor  of  their  God.  They  evi- 
dently think  His  sense  of  beauty  equal  to  His  sense  of 
mercy,  and  that  prayers  from  gilded  altars  will  be 
more  likely  to  propitiate  Him  than  if  they  ascended 
from  homely  pulpits.  The  early  Christians  believed 
otherwise,  and  the  groves  were  the  first  temples  of  the 
Deity ;  but  theology,  like  other  things,  must  advance 
and  change,  and  the  most  sacred  creed  can  not  be 
wholly  conservative. 

No  reasoning  mind  can  doubt  the  excellent  influ- 
ence of  churches,  whatever  their  denomination,  upon 
most  natures ;  and  though  there  may  be,  and  doubtless 
are,  those  who  are  a  law  and  religion  to  themselves, 
requiring  neither  form  nor  restraint,  confirmation,  dis- 
cipline and  example  are  of  vast  importance  and  benefit 
to  the  mass  of  believers.  That  religion  is  often  em- 
ployed as  the  cloak  of  sin  proves  nothing  against  re- 
ligion, but  merely  the  disposition  of  humanity  to  hy- 
pocrisy. It  is  to  be  regretted,  however,  that  religion 
has  grown  so  much  a  matter  of  fashion  and  respecta- 


The  Churches.  169 

bility  as  to  furnish  targets  for  the  satirical  arrows  of 
skeptics  and  of  scoffers. 

Especially  is  this  the  case  in  New  York,  and  it  is 
becoming  more  and  more  so  every  year.  Hundreds 
of  persons  of  both  sexes  deem  themselves  privileged 
to  sin  all  the  week,  if  they  attend  Divine  service  on 
Sunday.  They  seem  to  imagine  Jehovah  attracted  by 
glare,  and  pomp,  and  lavishness ;  and  His  eyes  so  daz- 
zled by  material  splendor  that  He  cannot,  or  will  not, 
perceive  their  most  palpable  defects.  They  imitate 
the  French  nobleman  of  the  ancient  regime^  who  de- 
clared the  Lord  would  think  twice  before  He  conclu- 
ded to  damn  a  personage  of  Ms  quality. 

"  Purchase  or  rent  a  pew,"  the  church  fashionable 
appears  to  say,  "  and  you  shall  be  absolved  from  wrong- 
doing." 

"Be  rich  and  much  shall  be  forgiven  you." 

" The  way  of  the  transgressor  is  hard;  but  the  way 
of  the  poor  man  is  harder." 

"It  is  easy  to  obtain  a  pardon  of  heaven  when  you 
get  it  in  a  Bible  with  gold  clasps." 

Look  into  the  stately  granite  edifice.  But  before 
you  do  so,  see  if  you  are  in  proper  guise.  You  wear 
a  suit  of  fashionably  cut  black  ;  your  boots  fit  neatly ; 
your  gloves  are  fresh,  and  of  Courooisier's  make ;  you 
have  the  odor  of  jasmine  on  your  person  ;  you  can 
enter  unquestioned  and  sanctified,  particularly  if  you 
are  distingue  in  appearance,  and  look  like  a  person  of 
substantial  means.  The  portly,  oleaginous,  rather 
pompous  sexton  will  beam  upon  you,  and  show  you  to 
a  seat  with  alacrity.  There  is  a  species  of  gentleness 
and  courtesy  engendered  by  Christianity,  you  think, 
as  you  receive  the  honors  of  the  temple.      While  you 


170  The  Great  Metropolis. 

are  so  occupied,  a  pale,  quiet-looking  man  enters,  in  a 
threadbare  suit,  though  "gentleman"  is  written  in  his 
face,  and  over  all  his  form.  The  above  sexton  scowls 
at  him  a  moment,  and  turns  away.  He  walks  nervously 
and  blunderingly  up  the  aisle.  No  one  opens  a  pew- 
door  for  him.  He  glances  around  uneasily,  and  his 
color  deepens  as  he  turns  and  walks  out.  He  is  not  a 
man.  He  is  of  the  peculiar  class  styled  "persons"  by 
upper  servants  in  the  fashionable  avenue. 

He  certainly  must  have  been  a  stranger ;  otherwise 
he  would  have  known  better  than  to  obtrude  upon  a 
fashionable  congregation  in  Broadway.  He  probably 
mistook  it  for  Sixth  avenue,  where  the  Creator  listens 
to  invocations  from  His  creatures  regardless  of  their 
apparel. 

This  church  with  its  congregation  is  a  pleasant  vision. 
No  wonder  the  people  repeat  the  litany  so  gently,  and 
after  the  manner  prescribed  by  Mrs.  General.  They 
are  too  prosperous  to  feel  the  need  of  worship.  They 
give  the  idea  of  patronizing  the  Deity,  as  if  they  said, 
"  Good  Lord,  we  approve  of  Thee  while  Thou  assurest 
us  steady  and  liberal  incomes.  Be  careful  and  watch 
over  our  interests.  Make  the  society  of  Heaven  ex- 
clusive if  Thou  would'st  have  us  come  there.  Don't 
permit  the  vulgar  to  profane  it.  If  they  do,  we  must 
withhold  our  presence,  and  that  would  grieve  Thee, 
poor  God,  who  wert  made  for  us  alone,  as  Thou 
knowest  in  Thy  wisdom." 

How  precise  and  elegant  is  everything  and  every- 
body in  the  church !  The  music  is  executed  faultlessly, 
and  after  the  style  of  the  Academy.  You  forget  the 
words  and  place  in  the  skillful  execution  of  the  trills 
and  bravuras. 


The  Churches.  171 

"  The  members  of  the  choir  sing  well,"  you  whisper 
to  your  neighbor. 

''Why  should  they  not?"  he  answers.  "They  are 
paid  very  liberally  for  it,"  as  if  he  designed  intimating 
to  Providence  that  He  should  appreciate  the  favor  done 
Him. 

The  pastor  is  daintily  dressed,  and  reads  the  prayers 
with  arduous  affectation  and  an  almost  total  omission 
of  the  R  sound.  He  shows  his  delicate  hand  to  ad- 
vantage, and  uses  his  perfumed  handkerchief  grace- 
fully, and  exactly  at  the  right  periods. 

The  worshipers  are  costumed  as  carefully  as  if  they 
were  at  the  opera.  The  building  is  thoroughly  ven- 
tilated, and  redolent  of  the  soft,  almost  voluptuous, 
odor  which  emanates  from  the  toilets  of  refined  women. 
They  look  devout  with  a  mathematical  uniformity  and 
precision.  They  fare  sumptuously;  they  pay  their 
minister  $10,000  a  year,  and  are  acceptable  in  the 
sight  of  Delmonico  and  the  Deity. 

How  pious  appears  that  elderly  man!  Well  he 
might ;  for  his  remaining  years  are  few,  and  the  most 
profligate  can  give  to  the  service  of  Heaven  the  little 
period  in  which  sin  is  a  physical  impossibility.  And 
yet  he  is  a  Sabbatarian  merely.  To-morrow  he  will 
falsify  and  cheat  his  best  friend  in  an  operation  in 
Broad  street.  His  colossal  fortune  has  been  built 
upon  misrepresentations — upon  the  adroit  tricks  which 
plain  people  would  call  stealing. 

Yonder  handsome  woman  is  earnest  in  her  orisons. 
The  tears  are  under  her  eye-lids ;  her  white  forehead 
is  wrinkled  Avith-  intensity  of  emotion.  She  is  praying 
that  her  love,  who  is  across  the  sea,  may  return  to  her 
safely,  and  kiss  her  fashionable  anxieties  away.     Of 


172  The  Great  Metropolis. 

her  disloyalty  to  her  husband — who,  with  head  resting 
devoutly  on  his  hands,  is  reflecting  on  the  last  fall  in 
"domestics'' — she  thinks  not;  for  long  custom  and 
much  passion  have  reconciled  her  to  her  sin. 

This  sweet-faced  girl  is  peering  through  her  open 
fingers  in  envy  at  the  bonnet  of  her  next-pew  neigh- 
bor, which  is  twice  as  pretty  as  her  own,  and  which, 
to  employ  her  own  phrase,  she  is  dying  to  possess. 
She  forgets  her  Bible  and  her  prayer-book  in  her 
absorption  upon  that  "sweet  hat,"  and  all  her  religion 
would  not  enable  her  to  forgive  the  "creature "  for  her 
good  fortune  in  securing  the  dainty  pattern. 

One  of  the  pillars  of  the  church,  as  he  is  called, 
should  be  called  one  of  the  sleepers ;  for,  with  his  head 
resting  on  his  hand,  he  has  for  the  past  half-hour  been 
unconscious  of  his  whereabout.  Casuists  have  said, 
"  Man  cannot  sin  in  sleep."  Perhaps  that  is  the  reason 
so  m.any  virtuous  souls  slumber  through  Sunday  ser- 
vice. 

Let  us  go  further  up  town,  to  even  a  more  liberal 
church,  to  which,  a  cynical  wit  has  said,  "  No  man  who 
loves  his  wife,  or  a  woman  who  loves  her  husband  is 
admissible."  Without  aught  that  can  be  termed  a 
creed,  many  of  the  bravest  and  truest  spirits  gather 
there  every  Sabbath,  and  gain  strength  and  consola- 
tion from  the  teachings  of  their  skeptically  Christian 
clergyman.  Most  of  his  congregation  believe  more  in 
good  works  than  in  faith ;  and  yet  the  best  of  them 
are  weak,  and  fail  of  their  intent,  as  all  of  us  must  do, 
strive  as  we  may. 

The  organ  peals  through  this  crowded  temple,  where 
many  are  kneeling,  even  into  the  street.  The  robes 
are  rich ;  the  incense  is  aromatic ;  the  music  is  choice. 


The  Churches.  173 

How  entirely  devout  do  these  humble  worshippers  ap- 
pear ?  They  bend  almost  to  the  marble  pavement ; 
they  seem  to  agonize  with  repentance.  Unquestion- 
ably they  are  contrite.  They  resolve  to  sin  no  more  ; 
and  to-morrow  they  violate  half  the  commandments. 

The  spirit  may  be  strong  ;  but  the  flesh  is  weak.  Is 
it  not  so  with  all  of  us,  whatever  our  belief?  What 
is  life  but  misdeed  and  repentance,  and  repentance  and 
misdeed  ?  It  may  be  true  that  we  do  what  we  must, 
and  call  it  by  the  best  name  we  can. 

The  Metropolis  is  not  favored,  according  to  its  size 
and  pretensions,  with  particularly  able  or  eloquent 
divines ;  though  if  you  take  the  word  of  each  congre- 
gation, there  are  as  many  men  of  genius  in  the  pulpit 
as  there  are  churches. 

Ministers  in  the  City,  thought  to  be  as  gifted  as 
Chrysostom  or  Thomas  Aquinas,  have  power  to  put 
persons  troubled  with  nervous  disorders  more  pro- 
foundly to  sleep  than  a  dormouse  in  mid-winter.  Some 
have  good  thoughts  and  much  learning ;  but  they  spoil 
all  by  their  manner,  and  they  would,  though  they  had 
the  thought  of  Shakspeare  and  the  style  of  Plato. 

Pulpit  oratory  has  long  been  peculiar,  not  to  say 
vicious,  mainly  from  the  fact  that^  clergymen  have 
feared  to  become  theatrical 

So  far  as  I  have  observed,  there  is  no  imminent 
danger  of  the  clerical  profession  falling  into  that  fault. 

Let  them  not  be  alarmed.  They  can  change  their 
style  greatly,  and  yet  never  be  suspected  of  dramatic 
tendencies.  Let  them  be  convinced  without  a  revela- 
tion from  Heaven,  that  strained  pronunciation,  and 
drawling,  and  the  twisting  of  syllables  out  of  their 
recognition,    are  no   more   agreeable   to   the    Eternal 


174  The  Great  Metropolis. 

Father  than  naturalness  and  the  common  graces  of 
elocution. 

If  we  have  so  much  fashionable  religion  in  New- 
York,  we  have  more  that  is  earnest,  true,  devoted. 
We  have  men  and  women  whose  lives  are  a  long  sac- 
rifice and  offering  of  their  highest  and  best  for  the 
good  and  happiness  of  their  fellows. 

There  are  humble  and  wayside  temples  of  God, 
vfhere  elegance  is  not  the  price  of  virtue,  but  where 
charity  is  so  regarded  still. 

We  have  men  and  women  devoid  of  all  sentimental 
and  sensational  sensibilities,  who,  in  silent  ways,  bind 
up  wounded  hearts,  minister  to  the  needy,  (and  they 
are  of  many  and  different  creeds,)  and  quarrel  not 
with  those  seeking  their  own  way  to  Heaven — believ- 
ing all  true  Christianity  consists  in  doing  unto  others 
as  ye  would  that  they  should  do  unto  you. 

If  great  hypocrisy,  and  untruth,  and  insincerity  be 
masked  with  religion,  there  are  virtues  hidden  in  it 
so  deeply  that  only  he  who  seeks  for  good  in  all,  with 
a  sympathetic  spirit,  can  find  them,  and  all  the  purer 
and  meeker  for  their  concealment  and  unsuspected 
beins:. 


CHAPTER     XYIII. 
THE     THEATERS. 

What  is  known  in  dramatic  circles  as  a  metropolitan 
reputation  or  success,  and  the  need  that  an  artiste 
should  be  indorsed  here  before  acceptance  by  the 
"  provinces,"  seems  to  have  become  positively  indis- 
pensable. There  is  incalculable  advantage  in  making  a 
first  appearance  and  gaining  favor  here  ;  and  the  advan- 
tage is  not  merely  apparent,  it  is  actual.  It  enables 
agents  and  managers  to  make  engagements  elsewhere; 
and  the  country  Js  always  anxious  to  know  the  character 
and  extent  of  the  reception  in  New-York. 

New-York  almost  always  includes  fifty  to  a  hundred 
thousand  strangers  from  every  quarter  of  the  Union ; 
and  these  compose  the  great  body  of  our  play-goers 
and  amusement-seekers.  Even  when  cultivated  and 
fastidious,  they  are  in  no  mood  or  mind  for  criticispi 
on  such  occasions.  They  rush  to  the  theater  to  get 
rid  of  themselves, — to  kill  an  evening ;  and  their  sat- 
isfaction is  a  foregone  conclusion.  It  matters  little  to 
them  whether  it  be  Wallack's,  Tony  Pastor's,  the 
Academy,  or  the  San  Francisco  Minstrels, — an  elegant 
comedy,  a  new  opera,  a  leering  ballet-girl,  or  a  Yir- 
ginia  break-down.  They  go  to  enjoy  themselves,  and 
they  do,  without  regarding  the  entertainment  artisti- 
cally, or  analyzing  the  source  of  their  gratification. 

New- York  has   usually  about   twelve  theaters,   or 


176  The  Great  Metropolis. 

places  where  lyric  and  dramatic  entertainments  are 
given  ;  and  they  are  so  well  patronized  generally,  that  if 
their  managers  do  not  become  rich,  it  must  be  because 
of  their  improvidence.  Four  of  our  theaters,  not  to 
speak  of  Barnum's  Museum,  were  burned  within  a  year. 

Barnum's  museums,  both  the  old  and  the  new,  were 
serious  losses  to  the  country  people,  who  regarded  them 
as  the  loudest-roaring  lions  of  the  town.  The  famous 
establishment  at  the  corner  of  Ann  street  and  Broad- 
way, where  the  Herald  now  stands,  was  for  years  the 
center  of  attraction  for  our  rural  cousins,  who  felt  after 
they  had  looked  on  the  "one  hundred  thousand. curi- 
osities'' the  great  showman  advertised,  and  had  visited 
'Hhe  lecture  room,"  that  the  best  of  the  City  had  been 
seen.  When  it  was  burned,  and  the  daily  journals 
printed  burlesque  accounts  of  the  conflicts  of  the 
stuffed  beasts  and  the  thrilling  achievements  of  the 
wax  figures,  many  of  our  rustic  friends  believed  the 
narratives  sincere  ;  throbbed  with  intense  sympathy, 
and  mourned  over  the  irreparable  loss. 

The  Academy  has  been  rebuilt,  and  new  and  better 
dramatic  temples  will  supply  the  place  of  the  others. 
N^w  theatres  are  now  either  in  process  of  erection  or 
projected  ;  so  there  is  slender  prospect  of  any  diminu- 
tion of  histrionic  entertainments  in  the  City. 

The  Academy,  though  incomplete  in  its  interior  ar- 
rangement, is  much  of  an  improvement  on  the  old 
opera  house,  and  may  be  considered  a  graceful  and 
elegant  cage  for  our  Tuscan  birds  of  song.  Taste  for 
the  opera,  like  that  for  olives,  is  generally  acquired — 
the  result  of  culture ;  and,  during  the  past  ten  years  it 
has  grown  popular,  not  only  in  New- York,  but  in  other 
cities. 


NEW  YORIv  riLOT   BOAT. 


IJARNl'M'S  MrSKr.M,  1860. 


The  Theaters.  177 

The  early  embarkers  in  lyric  enterprises  had  hard 
fortunes  and  grievous  failures  here ;  and  Max.  Maret- 
zek's  recent  success  has  not  been  very  brilliant.  He 
came  to  America  very  poor,  and  according  to  his  ac- 
count he  has  been  losing  money  ever  since.  How  a 
man  who  had  nothing  to  begin  with  can  constantly  be 
declining  in  means,  and  yet  have'a  comfortable  income 
can  be  determined  only  by  the  musical  scale  peculiar 
to  the  Continent. 

The  opera  in  New- York  though  thoroughly  appre- 
ciated, and  enjoyed,  is  supported  as  much  for  fashion 
as  for  art's  sake.  At  least  one-third,  if  not  one-half, 
of  the  boxes  are  nightly  filled  by  persons  who  would 
not  go  there  if  it  were  not  the  mode,  and  if  it  did  not 
give  them  an  opportunity  to  indulge  their  love  of 
dress.  ' 

To  have  a  box  at  the  opera  is  considered  as  essen- 
tial by  pretenders  to  the  liaut  ton  as  to  have  a  house  on 
.  Fifth  avenue,  or  a  pew  in  Grace  church.  Consequently 
one  sees  men  and  women  in  full  dress  boring  them- 
selves mercilessly  in  Irving  Place  or  Pike's  Opera 
House  night  after  night,  and  declaring  they  are  de- 
lighted, when  they  cannot  distinguish  a  cavatina  from 
a  recitative.  Those  indifferent  to  the  oper^t  at  first 
come  to  like  it  after  a  while,  if  they  have  any  ear  for 
time  or  tune,  and  even  to  have  a  passion  for  it  at  last ; 
so  that  fashion  may  finally  create  what  it  originally  af- 
fected. 

Operas  have  been  better  and  more  effectively  pre- 
sented during  the  past  few  seasons,  and  this  commu- 
nity has  become  sufficiently  cultivated  and  discrimi- 
nating to  demand  a  certain  degree  of  excellence  in 
the  lyric  drama. 

12 


178  The  Great  Metropolis. 

Pike's  Opera  House  has  been  called  the  handsomest 
theater  in  the  world,  though  a  little  more  simplicity  in 
its  interior  would  be  desirable.  Its  vestibule  is  beau- 
tiful and  imposing,  and  the  auditorium,  when  lighted, 
is  brilliant  in  the  extreme.  The  Opera  House  some- 
what resembles  the  Grand  Opera  at  Paris,  and  is  much 
finer  than  the  famous  La  Scala  at  Milan  or  the  San  Carlo 
at  Naples,  which  are  great,  dreary,  dingy,  uncomfort- 
able houses  that  few  persons  admire  after  having  vis- 
ited them.  It  is  very  remarkable  that  Samuel  N.  Pike, 
a  comparative  stranger,  should  have  built  with  his  in- 
dividual means  an  opera  house  at  an  expense  of  nearly 
$1,000,000,  when  a  crowd  of  wealthy  New-Yorkers 
were  with  difficulty  induced  to  put  up  the  Academy 
of  Music,  even  with  the  privilege  of  occupying  the 
best  seats  by  virtue  of  being  stockholders. 

Pike  is  certainly  enterprising  and  generous  to  the 
verge  of  audacity  ;  for  he  is  the  only  man  in  the  City 
capable  of  expending  a  great  fortune  on  what  at  the 
time  of  its  expenditure  gave  little  hope  of  return.  He 
has  lately  sold  his  Opera  House  to  the  Erie  Railway 
Company  for  an  advance  on  its  cost ;  but  the  theater 
will  be  retained,  it  is  said.  I  fear  it  won't  be,  unless 
it  is  found  to  be  a  good  investment,  which  is  not  prob- 
able, so  far  is  its  location — Eighth  avenue  and  Twenty- 
third  street — removed  from  the  fashionable  quarter.  I 
sincerely  hope  the  Opera  House  won't  be  disturbed,  for 
New- York  cannot  afford  to  be  deprived  of  so  elegant  a 
temple  of  art. 

For  Booth's  new  theater.  Fifth  avenue  and  Twenty- 
third  street,  large  promises  have  been  made.  It  is  not 
yet  finished ;  but  it  will  be  superior,  no  doubt,  to  any 
other  theater  in  the  United  States.     Edwin  Booth  has 


The  Theaters.  179 

built  it,  little  regarding  tlie  expense,  with  all  the  im- 
provements that  the  older  theaters  lack.  It  is  designed 
by  the  young  tragedian  for  his  home  of  the  legitimate, 
especially  the  Shakspearean  drama,  and  will,  it  is  ex- 
pected, do  much  to  resist  the  tendency  of  the  time  to 
merely  sensational  plays. 

Wallack's  is,  and  has  been  for  years,  the  best  theater 
in  the  United  States,  and  is  quite  as  good  as  any  in 
Europe  outside  of  Paris.  It  is  devoted  almost  entirely 
to  comedy,  and  has  no  "stars,"  as  that  term  is  usually 
employed,  but  the  most  capable  and  best-trained  com- 
pany that  can  be  selected  at  home  or  abroad. 

Plays  without  any  particular  merit  succeed,  because 
they  are  so  carefully  put  upon  the  stage,  so  fitly  cos- 
tumed and  so  conscientiously  enacted.  It  is  more  after 
the  style  of  the  French  theaters  than  any  other  in  the 
country.  The  old  stage  traditions  and  time-honored 
conventionaHsms  are  given  up  there.  Mouthing,  rant- 
ing, and  attitudinizing  are  not  in  vogue  ;  and  men  and 
women  appear  and  act  as  such,  and  represent  art  in- 
stead of  artificiality. 

It  is  commonly  said  that  New-York  goes  to  Wal- 
lack's ;  and  so  it  does  more  than  to  any  other  place  of 
amusement.  But  lovers  of  good  acting  from  every 
section  usually  avail  themselves  of  a  sojourn  in  the 
city  to  witness  the  artistic  representations  at  that 
theater. 

The  Winter  Garden,  burned  more  than  a  year  and  a 
half  ago,  has  not  been,  nor  will  it  be  rebuilt.  It  has  oc- 
cupied a  very  prominent  place  in  the  drama  of  New- 
York.  For  its  absurd  name  (given,  perhaps,  because 
there  was  nothing  in  or  about  the  house  to  suggest 
either  a  garden  or  Winter,)  it  is  indebted  to  Dion  Bou- 


180  The  Great  Metropolis. 

cicault,  who  translated  tlie  title  from  the  well-known 
Jardin  cV  Hiver  in  Paris.  It  was  formerly  Tripler  hall ; 
then  Boucicault's  theater ;  then  Burton's ;  then  Laura 
Keene's ;  and  some  years  ago  passed  into  the  hands  of 
William  Stuart,  a  clever  Irishman,  at  one  time  on  the 
editorial  staff  of  the  Tribune^  and  author  of  the  famous 
but  violent  critiques  on  Forrest  which  appeared  in  that 
journal  many  years  ago. 

At  the  time  of  its  destruction,  the  theater  was  mainly 
owned  by  Edwin  Booth,  who,  with  some  of  the  most 
famous  artistes  of  the  day,  such  as  Forrest,  Brooke,  An- 
derson, Carlotte  Cushman,  and  Jean  Marie  Davenport, 
made  the  place  historic.  After  Wallack's,  it  was  the 
best  conducted  theater  in  town,  which  seriously  feels 
its  loss.  The  star  system  was  generally  adopted 
and  followed  there ;  and  the  extreme  popularity  of 
Booth  caused  his  engagements  to  extend  through  the 
greater  part  of  the  regular  season. 

Niblo's  Garden,  another  of  the  inaptly  named,  is 
probably  the  oldest  of  the  Broadway  theaters.  It  was 
once  a  garden ;  but  it,  as  well  as  Niblo  himself,  disap- 
peared so  long  ago  that  the  time  when  they  were  is  for- 
gotten. It  has  had  numerous  managers,  but  none  more 
prosperous  than  the  present,  Jarrett  and  Palmer.  Their 
engagement  of  the  Parisian  ballet  was  particularly  for- 
tunate for  their  exchequer ;  for  its  success  far  exceeded 
the  most  sanguine  expectations.  For  seventeen 
months  it  crowded  the  theatre,  the  largest  in  Broad- 
way, every  night,  and  realized  to  each  of  the  mana- 
gers about  $100,000. 

Classic  tragedy  and  sparkling  comedy  are  very  well 
in  their  way  ;  but,  when  brought  into  competition  with 
voluptuously-formed  dancing  girls,  who  seem  to  wear 


The  Theaters.  181 

little  else  than  satin  slippers,  with  a  few  rose-buds  in 
their  hair,  the  legitimate  drama  dwindles  into  insignifi- 
cance. What  appeals  to  our  intellect  is  entitled  to 
our  esteem.  What  appeals  to  our  passions  carries  us 
by  assault. 

Niblo's  is  the  coolest  and  handsomest  theater,  the 
Academy  excepted,  in  the  City,  and,  during  the  lavish 
display  of  saltatory  nudity,  was  by  long  odds  the  most 
popular. 

The  Olympic  was  built  by  Laura  Keene ;  was  after- 
ward very  successful  under  Mrs.  John  Wood,  and  has 
done  well  since,  under  varied  management.  It  ranks 
fourth  among  New- York  theaters,  but  is  not  at  present 
distinguished  for  anything  in  particular. 

The  New- York  has  catered  to  the  lighter  tastes 
of  the  public,  and  with  a  remunerative  result.  This 
theater  is  very  small,  was  formerly  Dr.  Osgood's 
church,  and  was  opened  by  Lucy  Rushton,  who  had 
an  ample  physique^  but  no  discernible  dramatic  talent, 
and  failed  because  mere  avoirdupois  was  not  moneta- 
rily magnetic  in  Manhattan. 

The  Theatre  Fran^ais,  in  Fourteenth  street,  was,  as 
its  name  implies,  designed  for  Juignet  &  Drivet's 
French  comedians;  but  it  was  not  prosperous  with 
them.  It  was  opened  year  before  last  with  an  English 
opera  company,  who  did  so  well  that  its  members  fell 
to  quarreling,  and  disbanded  in  the  midst  of  a  season. 
Ristori  made  her  triumphs  there ;  and  of  late  devoted 
to  opera  bouffe,  it  has  been  very  successful. 

The  Broadway  is  Wallack's  old  theater,  and  is  one 
of  the  most  inconvenient  in  the  city.  Maggie  Mitchell, 
Heckett,  John  E.  Owens,  and  Barney  Williams  and 
his  wife  often  play  very  successful  engagements  there. 


182  The  Great  Metropolis. 

G  eorge  Wood  disposed  of  the  Broadway  some  time 
ago  to  Barney  Williams,  its  present  lessee  and 
manager. 

The  notorious  old  Bowery,  once  the  temple  of  the 
legitimate  has  long  been  surrendered  to  the  blue  fire 
and  bowl  and  dagger  drama.  The  New  Bowery  was 
burned  a  year  ago,  and  will  not  be  rebuilt.  The 
Stadt  is  a  large,  barn-like  house,  where  the  Germans 
applaud  Schiller  and  Kotzebue  over  lager  and  Lim- 
berger. 

It  is  needless  to  refer  to  the  Bowery,  for  its  reputa- 
tion and  peculiar  school  of  acting  have  become  na- 
tional. It  still  preserves  its  fame ;  and  sanguinary 
bandits  and  desperate  assassins  die  to  fast  poison  and 
slow  music  over  aiid  over  again,  to  the  delectation  of 
newsboys  and  the  enthusiastic  peanut-lovers  of  the 
East  side. 

Dawison  played  his  remarkable  parts  at  the  Stadt, 
and  drew  such  audiences  as  the  theater  very  rarely  at- 
tracts. It  has  all  the  appearance  of  a  continental 
theater,  and  it  is  with  difficulty,  when  inside  of  it,  that 
one  resists  the  impression  that  he  is  in  Berlin  or  Vien- 
na once  more. 

Wood's  Museum  and  Metropolitan  Theater  is  fur- 
ther up  town  than  any  other,  being  at  the  corner  of 
Broadway  and  Thirtieth  street.  When  it  first  opened 
with  a  ballet  troupe  it  did  well,  but  was  ill  managed, 
and  failed.  George  Wood,  formerly  of  the  Broadway, 
leased  it,  and  with  a  burlesque  English  singing  com- 
pany, in  which  Lydia  Thompson  and  other  actresses, 
more  comely  than  modest,  are  conspicuous, — he  is  filling 
the  house  nightly. 

There  are  other  theaters  and  numerous  halls  in  the 


The  Theaters.  183 

city  where  theatrical  entertainments  are  given  ;  but 
those  named  are  the  principal,  and  convey  an  idea  of  the 
drama  as  represented  and  supported  in  the  Metropolis. 

The  defects  of  the  City  theaters  are  their  general 
discomfort  and  lack  of  ventilation.  Nearly  all  of  them 
are  so  close  and  hot,  when  crowded,  that  enjoyment 
of  the  performance  is  marred,  if  not  destroyed,  by 
difficulty  of  wholesome  respiration.  Especially  is  this 
so  when  the  weather  is  at  all  warm ;  and  that  a  hun- 
dred women  do  not  faint  nightly,  suggests  that  femi- 
nine swooning,  is  to  a  certain  extent,  a  matter  of  elec- 
tion and  predetermination. 

The  nominal  price  of  admission  is  seventy-five  cents ; 
but  for  secured  seats,  or  in  other  words  any  seats  at  all, 
you  pay  a  dollar  and  a  dollar  and  a  half;  and  are  for- 
tunate, should  there  be  any  special  attraction,  if  you 
are  not  compelled  to  buy  tickets  of  speculators  at  a 
very  considerable  advance  on  the  regular  rate.  The 
speculators  are  a  nuisance,  which  the  manager  assumes 
to  oppose ;  but  he  is  often  suspected  of  being  in 
league  with  them,  and  dividing  the  profits  of  extra 
charges.        ^ 

Theatrical  people  are  peculiar  and  much  misunder- 
stood. Their  life  is  very  laborious ;  and  yet  it  has 
fascinations  few  members  of  the  profession  are  able  to 
withstand.  They  are  strangely  misrepresented,  and  to 
their  disadvantage,  by  those  who  know  nothing  of  them 
but  by  the  excesses  or  dissipations  of  a  few  and  the 
scandalous  stories  told  of  dead  celebrities.  They 
work  very  hard  generally,  but  are  much  better  paid 
than  they  used  to  be.  Subordinate  actors  and  actress- 
es receive  $20  and  $25  a  week  ;  the  leading  men  and 
women  $75;  soubrettes  $50,  and  the  ballet  girls,  as 


184  The  Great  Metropolis. 

they  are  called,  $8  to  $10.  Many  of  them  support 
aged  and  infirm  parents  and  relatives;  make  daily 
sacrifices  for  love  and  duty ;  are  heroic  in  a  humble 
way  as  few  outside  of  the  profession  are  capable  of 
believing.  They  live  two  lives.  The  life  of  the  stage 
is  quite  apart  from  the  practical  one,  and  often  as  real 
as  that  which  demands  food  and  raiment.  They  for- 
get many  of  their  troubles  and  hardships  before  the 
footlights,  which  are  to  them  the  radiance  of  their 
ideal  world.  They  are  made  peculiar  by  their  mimic 
being ;  but  once  entered  upon  a  theatrical  career,  they 
follow  it  through  every  variation  of  circumstance,  and 
cleave  to  it  with  an  earnest  interest  and  perfect  sym- 
pathy that  ought  to  insure  them  the  independence  they 
seldom  gain.  Their  trials  are  many,  their  temptations 
Strang ;  and  yet  there  is  often  such  beauty  in  the  lives 
of  the  humblest,  that  a  narrative  of  facts  would  sound 
like  a  romance.  They  are  very  migratory  except  at 
two  or  three  of  our  City  theaters ;  playing  here  this  season 
and  next  season  in  New-Orleans,  San-Francisco,  or 
Montreal  Good  actors  are  always  in  demand;  but 
there  is  such  a  difference  of  opinion  respecting  merit, 
so  much  in  circumstance,  that  they  who  strive  hardest 
and  are  most  deserving  not  seldom  subsist  from 
hand  to  mouth,  and  become  such  wanderers  they 
never  know  the  sense  of  rest,  the  satisfaction  of  inde- 
pendence, or  the  sweetness  of  home.  He  who  casts 
stones  at  them  knows  them  not,  and  forgets  what 
pleasure  they  have  given  him  when  life  looked  fair  and 
the  heart  was  young. 

The  narrowness  of  the  managers  is  shown  in  their 
unwillingness  to  engage  actors  or  actresses  who  have 
not  made  their  reputation  in  New-York,  pretending 


The  Theaters.  185 

that  their  success  in  "  the  provinces"  is  not  based  upon 
ability,  and  that  they  would  fail  when  exposed  to  the 
severe  test  of  metropolitan  criticism.  Some  of  the 
artists  who  cannot  get  engagements  are  better  than 
those  who  have  won  laurels  in  New- York ;  and  not  a 
few  who  have  struggled  for  years  to  make  an  appearance 
in  the  City  have,  when  the  opportunity  was  afforded, 
taken  the  town  by  storm. 

Eliza  Logan,  Matilda  Heron  and  John  E.  Owens  are 
instances  of  this.  James  E.  Murdoch,  for  years  the 
best  genteel  comedian  in  the  country,  could  never,  if 
my  memory  serve,  obtain  an  engagement  here,  because 
he  was  deemed  a  western  actor. 

The  people  of  New- York  generally  know  about  as 
much  of  the  great  West  as  they  do  of  the  Siberian 
steppes,  and  are  somewhat  surprised  when  they  l>ear 
that  the "  citizens  of  Chicago  and  Cincinnati  wear 
gloves,  and  use  napkins  at  table.  It  is  not  improbable 
that  the  Gothamites  will  increase  their  knowledge  be- 
fore the  century  is  over  and  learn  that  the  ^'provincial- 
ists"  in  some  things  are  equal  to  the  self-sufiicient 
"metropolitans." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
THE    "DEAD-BEATS." 

"Dead-beat,"  though  by  no  means  elegant,  is  rath- 
er an  expressive  term,  probably  of  English  origin, 
meaning  entirely  spent,  exhausted,  broken  down, 
bankrupt,  and  finds  its  synonym  in  our  slang  Amer- 
icanism, "played  out."  "Dead-beats"  are  hardly 
natural  to  the  soil  and  surroundings  of  the  Republic, 
and  must  have  been  primarily  an  importation.  But, 
once  transplanted,  they  flourish  and  multiply  here  as 
they  could  not  abroad;  for  nowhere  else  could  or 
would  they  receive  such  sustenance  and  encourage- 
ment. 

New -York  abounds  in  dead-beats.  They  are  found 
in  every  profession  and  calling,  in  every  kind  of  so- 
ciety, in  all  manner  of  disguises.  No  set  is  so  exclu- 
sive, no  vocation  so  earnest,  that  the  dead-beat  does 
not  enter  it.  He  is  irreverent,  obstinate,  audacious. 
He  rushes  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread.  While  Ca- 
pacity, combined  with  Modesty,  holds  back  and  bkish- 
es  with  diffidence,  Self- Assertion  and  Impudence, 
which  are  the  heart  and  brain  of  dead-beatism,  crowd 
forward  and  steal  the  prize. 

The  eminent  dead  beat  is  he  who  is  not  found  out ; 
who  half  imposes  upon  himself  as  well  as  others ;  who 
has  come  to  believe,  at  least  partially   that  he  is  what 


The  "Dead  Beats."  187 

he  has  so  long  pretended.  The  pulpit,  the  bar,  jour- 
nalism, art,  the  medical  profession  are  full  of  such. 
But  only  the  keen-eyed  few  perceive  them.  To  the 
great  mass  they  are  the  appointed  oracles  and  the 
ministers  of  Fate.  i 

The  Rev.  Ambrose  Arrowroot  has  an  extended 
reputation  for  learning  and  for  eloquence.  Men  laud 
and  women  languish  for  him.  But  he  is  only  a  plaus- 
ible hypocrite  and  fair-faced  muif,  that  his  biased  con- 
gregation have  dyed  gorgeously  with  the  crimson 
splash  of  their  praise. 

Peter  Pettifogger,  Esq.,  brandishes  green  boughs 
of  language,  devoid  of  strength  and  sap,  before  judg- 
es and  juries,  until  fatigue  disarms  criticism.  He  har- 
rangues  crowds  with  noise  and  egotism,  and  they 
accept  him  as  a  new  Chrysostom. 

George  Washington  Jones  writes  columns  of  pre- 
sumptuous verbiage  year  after  year,  until  he  proves 
the  public  a  great  ass,  and  is  enrolled  on  the  list  of 
cotemporaneous  fame. 

Angelo  Smith,  designed  for  a  sigil-painter,  executes 
marvels  of  bad  taste  on  canvas,  and  calls  them  art. 
Sciolists  echo  him ;  fill  his  purse  with  sequins,  and  his 
little  soul  with  conceit. 

Dr.  Machaon  Mercury  kills  people  in  the  dark,  and 
prates  of  science.  A  quack  and  charlatan,  he  looks 
solemn  and  sapient,  and  his  patients  gain  confidence. 
Nature  heals  them,  and  they  praise  and  pay  the  pomp- 
ous trickster. 

Such  dead-beats  require  elaborate  treatment.  To 
expose  them  would  be  to  shatter  our  idols,  to  transfix 
many  of  our  dearest  friends.  We  prefer  those  of  a 
lower  grade,  who   know  what  they  are;    who  have 


188  The  Great  Me iROPOLia 

developed  backward;  who,  having  ceased  to  cheat 
themselves  have  resolved  to  cheat  the  World. 

The  adventurers,  the  Jeremy  Diddlers,  the  fellows 
who  live  by  their  wits,  are  the  ordinary  representa- 
tives of  the  class  whose  highest  career  is  on  the  island 
of  Manhattan.  These  are  the  ultra  Bohemians,  in  the 
worst  sense  of  the  word ;  the  men  of  defective  organ- 
ization ;  the  preyers  upon  the  good  nature  and  faith 
of  their  own  kind ;  the  persons  who  hold  that  the 
World  owes  them  a  living,  whether  they  strive  to  earn 
it  or  not.  Work  is  vulgar  to  them ;  deceit,  and  false- 
hood, and  knavery  commendable,  or  at  least  excusable 
on  the  ground  of  the  inequality  of  fortune.  All  men 
deserve  alike  in  their  creed;  and  they  who  are  defraud- 
ed of  their  birthright  are  privileged  to  get  from 
others  what  has  been  denied  to  them. 

No  doubt  there  are  thousands  of  people  here  who 
rise  in  the  morning  without  knowing  where  or  how 
they  will  get  their  breakfast  or  dinner,^  or  where  they 
will  lay  their  heads  at  night.  Most  of  those  would 
work  if  they  had  the  chance ;  but  a  large  proportion 
would  not  so  demean  themselves  while  a  livelihood  is 
to  be  obtained  by  social  stratagem  or  unblushing  im- 
posture. 

The  genuine  dead-beat  exists  by  falsehood  and  by 
borrowing.  He  is  an  artist  in  his  way ;  intelligent, 
observing,  with  a  knowledge  of  human  nature  and  an 
insight  into  character.  At  the  first  glance,  after  he 
has  had  sufficient  experience,  he  knows  his  victim ; 
determines  how  much  victim  can  spare ;  understands 
the  mode  of  reaching  victim's  sympathies.  As  suc- 
cess after  success  crowns  the  adventurer's  efforts,  he 
feels  a  pride  in  his  power  and  tact,  and  regards  get- 


The  ^'De.u)-Beats."  189 

ting  money  out  of  a  man  very  much  as  a  general  does 
an  advantage  over  the  enemy,  or  a  libertine  the  con- 
quest of  a  woman.  He  comes  to  consider  his  calling 
as  legitimate  as  any  other.  He  earns  his  fee  by  his 
adroitness,  as  a  lawyer  by  his  argument,  a  physician  by 
his  diagnosis,  an  author  by  his  last  volume. 

Dull,  plodding  men  are  disposed  to  be  honest.  They 
have  not  the  temperament  or  the  resources  needful  to 
an  adventurer's  status.  If  unprincipled  enough  to 
adopt  the  profession,  they  could  not  prosper  in  it. 
They  lack  the  appliances,  the  expedients — are  inca- 
pable of  making  the  combination  and  arranging  the 
plan  of  attack. 

Something  akin  to  genius  is  required  for  the  avoca- 
tion— a  union  of  valuable  qualities  that  would  yield 
profit  if  properly  directed.  The  dead-beat  is  almost 
always  a  person  of  decided  capacity,  with  something 
omitted  in  his  mental  or  moral  composition,  or  against 
whom  the  tide  of  circumstances  has  too  strongly  set. 

Beau  Brummel  was  a  clever  specimen  of  an  accom- 
plished dead-beat ;  Beau  Hickman  is  a  poor  example 
of  the  lowest  form.  Capt.  Wragge,  in  Wilkie  Col- 
lins's  "No  Name,"  united  the  talents  and  the  virtues 
of  his  profession. 

The  dead-beat  cannot  complain  of  monotony  in  his 
life.  His  variations  and  contrasts  are  like  those  of  a 
woman's  temper.  In  the  morning  he  flushes  with 
hope ;  in  the  evening  he  pales  with  disappointment. 
But  he  never  surrenders  hope,  which  is  his  spiritual 
pabulum.  His  exterior  undergoes  striking  changes. 
You  meet  him  smartly  dressed  to-day.  Next  week  he 
looks  shabby  as  a  resident  of  Mackerelville.  At  this 
moment  he  is  lavish  of  money.     When  next  you  meet 


190  The  Great  Metropolis. 

him,  he  is  penniless  as  the  old-time  printer  used  to  be 
on  Monday  morning.  At  times  he  is  unpleasantly 
tipsy ;  at  others  he  is  somberly  sober.  All  conditions 
and  moods  join  in  him.  The  August  sun  and  Decem- 
ber frost  dwell  together  in  his  being. 

The  dead-beat  is  usually  the  embodiment  of  good 
nature,  polite,  and  desirous  to  conciliate  every  one. 
He  cannot  afford  to  offend  the  humblest  member  of 
the  community  on  which  he  subsists.  His  list  of 
acquaintances  is  interminable.  He  recognizes  and 
remembers  you  at  once.  He  thinks  he  has  met  you 
at  a  great  many  places  where  you  have  never  been ; 
but  at  last  fixes  upon  some  fact  of  your  life,  and  pur- 
sues you  with  it. 

He  has  the  highest  opinion  of  you,  and  so  informs 
you.  He  flatters  you  grossly  or  delicately,  according 
to  your  appetite.  He  discovers  your  foibles,  your 
.particularly  weak  spot,  in  a  few  minutes'  talk.  If  you 
have  lectured  at  Cooper  Institute,  or  Chicago,  or  San 
Francisco,  he  recalls  the  occasion ;  for  it  made  a  dis- 
tinct impression  upon  his  mind.  He  was  delighted, 
and  he  wonders,  great  as  your  reputation  is,  that  you 
are  not  more  fully  appreciated. 

If  you  have  written  anything,  he  considers  it,  on 
the  whole,  the  best  thing  of  the  kind  he  ever  read. 
He  is  so  observant  that  he  bears  in  memory  the  young 
woman  you  last  drove  with  in  the  Park.  And,  though 
tastes  differ,  he  hazards  the  opinion  she  has  more 
beauty,  and  elegance,  and  style  than  one  usually  finds, 
even  in  the  best  circles  of  society.  He  has  often  won- 
dered, w^ith  your  capacity,  and  culture,  and  opportu- 
nity, you  don't  push  your  fortune.  He  scorns  to 
flatter  anybody ;  he  is  a  person  of  candor,  even  though 


The  ^'Dead-Beats."  191 

it  give  pain.  But  he  shall  always  consider  you  a  man 
of  great  capacity,  different  from  others — too  original 
and  sensitive,  perhaps,  to  succeed,  but  with  a  deal  of 
power — more  deserving  of  fame  than  nine-tenths  of  the 
fellows  who  have  schemed  themselves  into  a  name. 

After  all  that,  you  are  more  than  human  if  you  don't 
begin  to  believe  there's  something  in  D.  B.,  though  he 
does  talk  a  great  deal.  And  when  he  intimates  a  de- 
sire for  a  small  loan,  you  grant  it  with  alacrity,  and 
feel  the  obligation  is  on  your  side. 

If  you  are  a  merchant,  or  a  politician,  or  a  muscular 
Christian,  he  will  tell  you  of  your  skill  in  buying  and 
selling,  your  understanding  of  the  people,  or  your 
dexterity  in  the  brutal  art  of  bruising.  He  will  fit  his 
color  to  your  sample,  however  rare  the  shade. 

The  dead-beat,  though  you  think  you  have  seen 
him  every  day  for  a  month,  has  always  just  been,  or 
is  just  going,  somewhere.  A  number  of  people  are 
anxious  for  him  to  do  this  or  that ;  but  he  is  in  grave 
doubt.  Jones  has  not  money  enough,  and  Robinson 
is  hardly  as  liberal  as  he  might  be.  And  then  what's 
the  use  of  a  fellow  who  is  in  demand  constantly  taking 
the  first  offer  ? 

He  invites  you  to  drink,  and  discovers  he  has  left 
his  portemonnaie  in  his  other  coat.  He  asks  you  to  call 
on  families  of  position,  but  defers  the  visit  if  you 
accept.  He  relates  his  flirtations  with  the  youngest 
daughter  of  the  wealthy  banker  in  Exchange-place ; 
and  informs  you  confidentially  of  the  row  he  had  with 
old  Sturgeon,  because  his  young  wife  v/as  so  devoted 
to — he  won't  say  who  or  what,  but  "you  understand, 
old  boy." 

The  dead-beat  haunts  the  hotels,  the  places  of  amuse- 


192  The  Great  Metropolis. 

ment,  and  the  principal  streets.  He  is  ever  on  the 
alert  for  some  dear  friend — he  has  more  friends  than 
all  the  Yeneerings — but  will  walk  with  you  if  you're 
not  in  haste.  He  has  a  singular  faculty  of  meeting 
you  about  dinner  or  lunch  time,  and  is  forever  leaving 
something  at  home.  He  is  a  regular  barnacle.  He 
won't  be  disturbed  or  shaken  off.  He  sticketh  closer 
than  a  brother,  though  you  abuse  him  like  a  brother- 
in-law.  His  friendship  for  you  is  greater  than  that  of 
Nisus  for  Euryalus,  or  Alexander  for  Hephcestion.  He 
will  talk,  and  drink,  and  eat,  and  sleep  with  you  until 
he  has  borrowed  your  last  dollar,  and  then  advise  you 
to  be  more  careful  of  your  means. 

These  strange  creatures  are  usually  made  what  they 
are  by  evil  passions,  by  indulgence  in  some  vice.  If 
they  kept  sober  and  didn't  gamble,  their  pride  would 
come  to  their  aid,  and  give  them  strength  to  lead  true 
lives.  Their  course  is  all  downward.  They  frequently 
become  bar-keepers,  low  blacklegs,  runners  for  gam- 
bling houses,  and  even  for  bagnios.  What  we  call  sin, 
perpetually  goes  backward,  tends  below.  Their  career 
is  brief  and  melancholy.  If  they  do  not  die  suddenly, 
they  slip  away  and  disappear  in  spafce.  Probably  they 
fly  off  from  the  great  centre  of  the  Metropolis,  and 
revolve  in  the  orbits  of  the  country  towns. 

I  have  known  men  of  fine  talents,  with  excellent 
opportunities  and  beginnings,  fall  to  the  under  plane 
of  dead-beatism ;  and  their  career  was  thenceforth 
downward,  until  the  coroner's  inquest  told  all  that  was 
left  of  their  history. 

Their  first  mistake  was  in  endeavoring  to  obtain 
something  for  nothing ;  in  cherishing  the  delusion  that 
the  race  of  life  was  to  be  gained  by  standing  still. 


The  "Dead-Beats."  193 

They  spent  more  than  they  earned.  They  borrowed, 
and  borrowed,  until  they  grew  used  to  borrowing, 
and  careless  of  payment.  That  was  the  dangerous 
step ;  for  they  lost  confidence  in,  and  respect  for,  them- 
selves the  moment  they  surrendered  conscientiousness 
about  debt. 

I  remember  a  reformed  beat  who  unfolded  his  ex- 
perience, which  extended  through  five  years.  He 
"got  behind"  at  faro,  and  borrowed  to  make  up  his 
loss.  In  a  few  weeks  he  had  borrowed  three  thousand 
dollars ;  pawned  his  watch  and  jewelry ;  overdrawn 
his  account  in  the  office,  with  not  a  farthing  in  pros- 
pect. Then  he  began  to  drink  to  excess ;  lost  his  sit- 
uation ;  grew  desperate ;  borrowed  of  every  one  he 
saw;  gambled  more;  prospered  pecuniarily  for  a 
while,  but  discharged  no  old  obligations.  At  that 
time,  he  was  boarding  at  a  first-class  hotel ;  could  not 
pay  his  bill,  running  through  six  months ;  was  invited 
to  leave ;  stole  off  one  night  with  his  baggage  ;  went 
to  another  hotel,  with  same  result ;  then  to  private 
boarding-houses — fashionable  ones  at  first ;  mackerel- 
eating  and  coatless  people  at  table,  with  soiled  hands 
and  unsavory  odors,  at  the  last. 

All  his  old  acquaintances  cut  him ;  father  refused  to 
help  him  ;  besought  strangers  for  small  means ;  got 
into  the  gutter  ;  the  days  and  nights  were  hideous  and 
confused  like  nightmare  dreams.  He  gravitated  to  a 
gin-cellar  in  Water  street,  and  received  lodging  and 
food  to  drug  the  liquor  of  predestined  victims ;  took 
money  from  the  drawer ;  wsiS  beaten  half  to  death  by 
the  proprietor  of  the  vile  place;  sent  to  hospital, 
where  delirium,  added  to  his  wounds,  laid  him  at  the 
door  of  death.  For  weeks  he  knew  nothing ;  but,  as 
13  — 


194  The  Great  Metropolis. 

he  recovered  partially,  familiar  faces  stole  through  his 
feverish  dreams;  familiar  voices  sounded  in  his  ear. 
Better  and  better  by  degrees ;  and  one  morning,  wak- 
ing stronger  than  ever,  he  felt  her  kiss — the  kiss  of  his 
mother — on  his  forehead ;  and  the  face  of  the  World 
was  changed  before  that  good,  sweet,  sympathetic  face 
of  man's  first,  and  last,  and  best,  and  dearest  friend. 

His  fight  with  the  ruffian  had  found  its  way  into  the 
newspapers.  His  mother,  in  a  distant  city,  having 
seen  the  account,  came  to  New- York,  saved  him,  and 
returned  him  to  a  new  life. 

To-day  he  is  prosperous ;  a  happy  husband  and 
father ;  and,  better  still,  charitable  to  all  who  err  or 
walk  in  the  downward  way.  His  advice  never  to 
borrow  money,  without  paying  it,  is  good,  for  debt  is 
the  beginning  of  dishonor. 

Money  may  be  vulgar,  but  it  is  needful.  So  long 
as  men  are  conscientious  in  the  payment  of  the  money 
they  owe,  they  will  be  in  the  discharge  of  social  and 
spiritual  obligations.  Who  would  be  free,  independ- 
ent, contented,  should  avoid  debt.  The  debtor  is  en- 
slaved. Debt  imposes  a  burthen  upon  him  that  pre- 
vents his  walking  upright  and  wholly  honest  in  the 
light  in  which  Peace  is  found. 


CHAPTER   XX. 
THE    ADVENTURESSES. 

To  KNOW  an  adventuress,  and  to  find  her  out,  is  al- 
ways a  wound  to  the  masculine  self-love  that  is  slow  in 
healing.  All  men  of  the  World  who  have  traveled 
have  met  adventuresses,  and  have  sometimes  been  de- 
ceived by  the  clever  creatures,  though  their  vanity 
may  disincline  them  to  such  confession. 

What  American  that  has  lived  abroad,  or  wandered 
there,  but  has  met,  in  Paris,  or  Berlin,  or  St.  Peters- 
burgh,  at  Biarritz,  or  Ems,  or  Wiesbaden,  some  artful 
and  interesting  woman,  with  a  romantic  history  and  a 
sentimental  soul,  who  has  drawn  him  into  sympathy 
and  love  with  her  for  at  least  a  season !  Perhaps  cir- 
cumstance has  intervened  between  her  and  discovery, 
and  her  gallant  has  come  home  to  think  of  the  dark- 
eyed  countess  or  the  blonde  baroness,  who  was  impru- 
dent to  be  sure,  but  imprudent  because  she  so  wholly 
loved. 

"Ah!"  sighs  my  bachelor  friend,  "Minawas  a  charm- 
ing creature ;  and  I  have  often  thought  it  unwise  not 
to  have  thrown  her  stupid  Saxon  husband  overboard, 
that  delightful  night  on  the  Adriatic.  That  might 
have  changed  my  destiny.  Poor,  dear  Mina !  I  wonder 
where  she  is  now.     How  devotedly  she  loved  me!     I 


196  The  Great  Metropolis. 

should  be  inhuman  if  I  did  not  remember  her  with 
fondness." 

It  is  well  for  my  friend's  vanity  he  does  not  know 
where  and  how  Mina  is.  Since  he  knew  her,  she  has 
had  many  husbands  and  lovers, — the  terms  are  synon- 
ymous with  her, — and,  if  she  could  recall  him,  she 
would  laugh  at  his  folly,  and  declare,  in  her  pretty 
German-French  way,  that  men  are  very  easily  de- 
ceived. 

Most  of  our  sex  who  know  anything  about  women 
think  they  know  all,  and  are  disposed  to  believe  them- 
selves interesting  to  any  she  they  deem  worthy  of  at- 
tention. Upon  this  knowledge  of  m.en,  upon  their 
weakness  respecting  women,  adventuresses  found  their 
career.  They  attack  men's  purses  through  their  vanity 
or  passion,  and  are  usually  successful  because  of  the 
feebleness  of  the  point  of  attack.  Very  skillful  spirit- 
ual anatomists  are  the  members  of  the  deceptions  sister- 
hood. They  soon  find  the  available  place,  and  carry 
the  assault,  less  from  strength  without  than  weakness 
within. 

The  larger  the  city,  and  the  more  cosmopolitan,  the 
broader  and  better  the  field  for  feminine  operations. 
And  New- York,  with  its  vast  variety  of  people,  its 
easy  freedom  and  indifference  to  country  conventional- 
isms, is  a  proper  pasture  for  women  of  this  sort.  They 
are  more  numerous  than  is  supposed  in  the  Metropolis, 
which  is  their  centre  and  radiating-point.  They  are 
drawn  here  by  the  attraction  of  numbers  and  wealth. 
They  migrate  to  "the  provinces"  in  times  of  dull- 
ness and  adversity,  and  return  when  fortune  promises 
fairer. 

The  number  of  adventuresses  in  New- York  can  be 


The  Adventuresses.  197 

reckoned  no  more  than  the  number  of  dishonest  men ; 
but  they  can  be  counted  by  hundreds  if  not  thous- 
ands, for  they  are  often  seen  where  no  one  would 
suspect. 

The  unfortunate  creatures  who  pace  Broadway  after 
nightfall,  anxious  to  sell  themselves  to  whoever  has  the 
means  of  purchase,  are  adventuresses  in  their  worst 
and  most  obnoxious  form.  But  they  are  not  of  the 
class  I  mean;  for  they  are  driven  by  a  terrible  neces- 
sity, and  lost  thereby  to  every  sense  of  shame.  They 
are  in  the  very  shambles  of  the  senses,  and  hold  no 
masks  before  their  wretched  infamy. 

The  adventuress,  strictly  such,  earns  all  her  success 
by  seeming  to  be  what  she  is  not;  by  an  adroit  as- 
sumption of  virtue  she  can  hardly  remember  to  have 
had. 

A  walk  up  Broadway  or  Fifth  avenue,  a  visit  to  the 
Academy  during  the  opera  season,  a  drive  in  the  Park, 
a  sojourn  at  the  watering-places,  during  the  Summer, 
will  always  reveal  to  the  discriminating  a  number  of 
full-blown,  perfectly-developed  adventuresses,  who,  to 
the  many,  are  fine  ladies  and  leaders  of  fashion. 

Theophrastus-  failed  to  mention  the  adventuress 
among  his  ''Characters,"  for  the  reason  that  she  be- 
longs more  to  the  romantic  than  the  classic,  the  modern 
than  the  ancient  school.  She  is  peculiar,  and  not  dis- 
cernible except  to  the  practiced  and  below-the-surface- 
seeing  eye.  She  is  usually  either  young,  or  capable 
of  making  herself  appear  so — often  near  the  middle 
age,  but  so  fresh  in  semblance  and  agreeable  in  man- 
ners that  she  loses  her  years  in  proportion  to  one's  ac- 
quaintance with  her.  If  not  positively  pretty,  she  has 
a  noticeable  face,  a  graceful  figure,  excessive  tact,  and 


198  The  Great  Metropolis. 

knows  how  to  use  her  tongue.  What  more,  especially 
when  it  is  remembered  she  has  surrendered  the  incon- 
venient thing  we  call  conscience,  could  or  would  a 
woman  need  to  measure  herself  against  the  World  she 
is  resolved  to  cheat  and  profit  by? 

The  moral  faculties  are  very  essential  to  a  well-bal- 
anced organization ;  but  they  are  sadly  in  the  way  of 
achievement  sometimes,  and  the  person  that  throws 
them  overboard  is  the  first  to  reach  the  port  of  pros- 
perity. 

Our  heroine  is  self-poised,  self- disciplined,  incapable 
of  being  taken  unawares  or  at  disadvantage.  She  has 
strength  and  resources:  she  understands  the  power 
and  efficiency  of  impudence  and  of  inflexible  deter- 
mination never  to  be  put  down. 

Some  of  her  ethical  and  social  tenets  are : 

Believe  every  man  a  fool  until  he  has  proved  him- 
self otherwise;  and  even  then  distrust  his  wisdom 
more  than  your  power  to  deceive  him  in  the  end. 

Tell  half-truths  when  there  is  fear  of  discovery;  for 
half-truths  disarm  those  that  are  whole. 

Always  remember  that  a  falsehood  well  adhered  to 
is  better  than  a  truth  poorly  defended. 

Never  trust  a  woman  with  what  you  would  not  have 
repeated. 

Beai'  constantly  in  mind  that  men  are  to  be  won  and 
held  through  their  senses  and  their  vanity.  When 
one  is  satisfied,  stimulate  the  other. 

Never  make  confession.  It  is  glorious  to  die  at  the 
stake,  if  you  can  perish  with  a  lie  on  your  lips. 

The  adventuress  seems  to  prosper.  She  is  usually 
well  and  expensively  dressed;  has  jewels  and  money; 
though   in    straitened    circumstances,   she   seeks   the 


The  Adventuresses.  199 

pawnbroker,  and  secures  advances  from  her  mercenary 
uncle, — the  last  relative  from  whom  we  can  obtain  a 
loan.  Her  fortune  varies  like  that  of  a  gamester ;  and 
she  is  as  improvident.  A  true  epicurean,  she  lives  in 
to-day,  and  trusts  Mercury  for  to-morrow.  She  thinks 
Destiny  will  care  for  those  who  care  not  for  them- 
selves, and  that  the  fabled  Devil  never  abandons  his 
own.  No  doubt  she  suffers  dreadfully  at  times;  but 
she  looks  cheerful;  and,  when  anxiety  wears  her 
pale,  she  lays  on  the  rouge,  and  devises  new  schemes 
to  ensnare. 

Our  large  hotels  furnish  the  best  sojourning-places 
for  adventuresses,  who  can  always  be  seen  there. 
Those  women  do  not  stay  long  in  one  house  usually; 
for  they  are  unwilling  to  be  too  conspicuous  or  well 
known.  They  go  from  the  Astor  to  the  St.  Nicholas, 
from  the  St.  Nicholas  to  the  Metropolitan,  from  the 
Metropolitan  to  the  Fifth  Avenue,  and  in  turn  to  the 
Clarendon,  Brevoort,  Everett,  Union-Place  and  West- 
minster— wherever  men  and  money  are  to  be  found. 
By  way  of  episode,  they  enter  the  fashionable  board- 
ing-houses; but  the  field  is  narrow  there,  and  the  es- 
pionage and  gossip  of  their  own  sex  is  not  to  their 
liking. 

They  are  often  the  most  attractive  women  at  the 
public  houses.  They  know  how  to  dress,  and  they 
have  good  manners.  There  is  nothing  rustic,  or  awk- 
ward, or  disagreeably  bashful  about  them,  albeit  they 
appear  too  easy  sometimes  for  good-breeding  and  too 
free  for  entire  modesty.  They  elicit  your  attention  at 
breakfast  and  dinner;  assume  graceful  and  picturesque 
positions  in  the  drawing-room;  let  you  overhear  a 
piquant  phrase  as  if  by  accident ;  and  make  you  be- 


200  The  Great  Metropolis. 

lieve,  if  you  are  vain,  that  they  feel  an  interest  in  you, 
by  certain  half-averted  glances  and  stealthy  looks. 

The  adventuress  is  almost  always  alone,  unless  she 
is  accompanied  by  a  child,  too  small  to  be  troublesome 
and  too  young  to  be  observant,  which  gives  her  an 
air  of  respectability,  and  surrounds  her  with  the  sanc- 
tity of  maternity.  She  is  ever  waiting  for  somebody, 
or  going  somewhere,  or  expecting  something.  She 
has  expectations  from  the  future,  which  the  future  is 
slow  to  redeem.  She  never  lives  in  New- York,  nor 
do  any  of  her  relatives.  They  dwell  hundreds  of  miles 
distant,  for  some  mysterious  reason  ;  sometimes  in  New- 
England,  sometimes  in  the  West,  sometimes  in  the 
South ;  and  are  very  difficult  to  hear  from.  They  are 
persons  of  culture  and  position,  and  particularly  at- 
tached to  their  kinswoman, — rather  narrow  and  puri- 
tanical, perhaps,  but  amiable  and  affectionate  to  her 
broader  self 

The  adventuress  is  generally  a  widow,  but  some- 
times a  wife,  (never  a  maid,  either  actually  or  by  as- 
sumption), the  history  of  whose  husband,  living  or 
dead,  is  circumstantially  narrated.  When  her  husband 
is  with  her,  he  is  said  to  be  a  very  jealous  and  excita- 
ble, even  dangerous  man,  who  displays  extraordinary 
capacities  for  being  absent  when  he  is  not  wanted, — 
quite  unusual,  I  have  heard,  in  husbands  of  a  less  dubi- 
ous character.  It  is  reoorded,  however,  that  he  does 
make  his  appearance  most  inopportunely,  and  that  his 
wrath  is  so  great  at  unavoidable  discoveries  that  it  can 
be  mollified  only  by  liberal  disbursements  of  private 
exchequer.  He  insists  on  blood  at  first ;  but  finally 
compromises  on  lucre, — informing  the  wounder  of  his 
honor  that  such  a  thing  must  not  happen  again. 


The  Adventuresses.  201 

Since  the  War,  widows  have  been  more  abundant 
than  ever.  They  have  lost  their  husbands  in  the  strug- 
gle, sometimes  on  the  side  of  the  North,  but  usually  on 
the  side  of  the  South.  They  hail  from  Charleston,  and 
Savannah,  and  Mobile,  and  New- Orleans,  frequently 
from  the  interior,  and  they  are  waiting  for  the  release 
of  their  estates.  They  have  been  to  Washington,  and 
have  friends  there  looking  after  their  interests.  They 
have  suffered  a  great  deal  in  various  ways,  especially 
from  poverty;  but  they  will  soon  be  in  affluent  cir- 
cumstances again. 

War-widows  are  to  be  regarded  with  suspicion,  par- 
ticularly when  from  the  South,  and  possessed  of  confis- 
cated plantations;  for  their  kisses  sting  like  adders, 
and  their  hands  are  gr'feedy  of  gold.  Victims  of  such 
may  be  reckoned  by  the  hundreds.  Hotel-proprietors, 
as  well  as  hotel-guests,  have  discovered  that  invest- 
ments through  sympathy  are  unproductive,  and  that 
cotton  is  not  king,  but  the  queen  of  deception  oft- 
times. 

Year  before  last  the  crop  of  Southern  widows  was 
superabundant ;  and  mine  host  was  so  often  cajoled  by 
them  that,  if  they  failed  to  pay  their  board  promptly 
at  the  end  of  the  week,  he  gave  them  full  permission 
to  go  elsewhere.  They  went  from  the  Stevens  House 
to  the  St.  James,  pausing  at  all  intermediate  places  be- 
cause of  the  lamentable  condition  of  public  confidence. 
Their  baggage  and  wardrobes  were  seized,  and  they 
would  have  been  turned  into  the  street  had  not  men 
been  found  who  had  faith  and  folly. 

Examples  of  interesting  poverty  are  not  unfrequent 
among  adventuresses.  They  make  the  acquaintance 
of  some  kind-hearted  man,  and  inform  him  of  their 


202  The  Great  Metropolis. 

straitened  circumstances.  They  have  failed  to  receive 
remittances,  and  can  not  pay  necessary  bills.  If  he 
can  lend  them  a  certain  sum,  they  will  return  it  in  a 
few  days.  They  show  letters  to  substantiate  their  state- 
ments. He  lends  and  obtains  payment,  if  at  all,  in 
coin  more  tender  than  legal,  and  the  loan  is  increased, 
and  a  liberal  relation  of  debtor  and  creditor  established. 

Sometimes  the  woman  declines  to  receive  money 
unless  the  lender  will  take  her  watch  and  jewelry  as 
pledges  for  payment.  But  what  man  of  gallantry  in 
America  can  do  that  ?  He  naturally  grows  indignant, 
and  inquires  if  he  looks  like  a  pawnbroker.  She  has 
made  no  blunder.  She  was  as  well  assured  by  her 
knowledge  of  character  that  he  would  not  receive  her 
trinkets  as  that  she  would  receive  his  money.  She 
converts  herself  into  a  charming  fountain  at  this  junc- 
ture ;  and  the  more  he  seeks  to  turn  off  the  water,  the 
more  brilliantly  it  plays. 

Those  eloquent  tears  have  quite  overcome  him.  He 
consoles  her  sentimentally,  and  her  debts  are  his — un- 
til he  finds  her  out. 

When  lovers  and  money  become  scarce,  the  adven- 
turess frequently  sends  suggestive  advertisements  to 
the  Herald^  or  answers  some  she  finds  there,  in  which 
'^young  and  handsome,"  "comforts  of  a  home," 
"agreeable  companion,"  "with  a  view  to  matrimony," 
are  the  alluring  baits.  She  often  rents  houses,  and 
takes  lodgers  or  boarders,  and  lays  siege  to  one 
after  the  other,  until  their  purses  are  no  longer  availa- 
ble. She  agrees  to  accept  a  situation  in  a  private 
family  as  teacher;  to  do  copying;  to  transcribe  ac- 
counts; to  assist  in  literary  labors;  soliciting  or  granting 
interviews  that  terminate  in  almost  anything  else. 


The  Adventuresses.  203 

Adventuresses  travel  on  the  cars  and  steamers  run- 
ning out  of  New- York  in  the  capacity  of  "unprotected 
females,"  and  soon  make  friends  whom  they  convert 
into  remunerative  lovers.  They  tell  marvelous  stories 
(what  man  could  ever  tell  a  story  like  a  woman,  so 
plausible,  so  interesting,  so  delicately  flattering,  so  de- 
liciously  false?)  veined  with  seeming  ingenuousness 
and  hued  with  sentiment. 

Men  listen,  and  believe,  and  succumb ;  for  their  van- 
ity prompts  them  to  believe,  and  passion  dulls  their 
reason. 

The  loudest  logic  is  unheard  before  the  small  voice 
of  desire,  and  the  strongest  resolution  melts  beneath 
the  softest  kiss. 

Not  a  few  of  our  adventuresses  mako  annual  pilgrim- 
ages to  the  watering-places  and  Washington,  where 
they  reap  a  better  harvest  even  than  in  New- York. 

At  the  national  capital  they  have  always  been  a 
power;  for  there  intrigue  is  at  a  premium,  and  well- 
managed  incontinence  in  women  more  potent  than 
principle,  more  effective  than  zeal. 

What  men  will  not  do  for  truth,  for  patriotism,  for 
justice,  for  plighted  word,  they  will  for  the  fascinations 
of  a  petticoat  and  the  follies  of  a  night. 

At  the  Summer  resorts,  the  adventuresses  give  zest 
to  the  commonplace  flirtations,  and  lend  a  dash  to  the 
monotony  of  life  there,  that  is  long  remembered  by 
coxcombs  who  plume  themselves  upon  the  prodigious 
conquests  they  have  made.  Such  fellows  would  be 
mortified,  indeed,  if  they  knew  of  their  predecessors 
in  pleasure.  But  they  don't;  and  it  is  well  they  are 
less   wicked   and   more   foolish    than    they  suppose. 

Unnatural,  unwomanly,  repulsive  as  is  the  life  of  an 


204  The  Great  Metropolis. 

adventuress,  she  appears  to  enjoy  it;  and  she  does  (for 
we  all  justify,  soon  or  late,  our  conduct  to  ourselves;) 
but  she  has  days  and  experiences  that  are  dark  c':d 
bitter  to  bear,  and  the  storms  of  her  being  break  upon 
her  unseen  heart.  Hardened  and  selfish  as  her  caree:: 
renders  her,  she  retains  possibilities  of  good,  and  dread 
of  evil  when  it  takes  new  form;  is  capable,  after  all 
her  miserable  make-believes  and  hideous  deceptions, 
of  generosity  and  sacrifice,  even  of  disinterested  affec- 
tion and  beautiful  devotion. 

With  all  her  wanderings,  and  weaknesses,  and  errors, 
she  has  something  of  the  angel  left,  and  above  the 
crumbled  ruin,  written  in  colors  of  light,  may  be  read 
the  word,  Woman,  still. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 
THE    BOARDING-HOUSES. 

Life  in  boarding-houses,  especially  in  New-York,  is 
as  different  from  life  in  hotels  as  residence  in  the 
Fourth  and  Eighteenth  wards.  The  better  class  of 
hotels  are  generally  comfortable,  often  luxurious  ;  but 
boarding-houses,  of  any  sort,  call  them  by  what  en- 
ticing name  you  may,  are  never  more  than  endurable, 
and  rarely  that. 

People  seldom  go  to  boarding-houses  save  from  ne- 
cessity. Poverty,  not  choice,  directs  them  thither ; 
and  they  stay  there  for  the  same  reason  so  many  men 
have  remained  in  the  territories — because  they  have 
not  the  means  to  come  away.  Boarding-house  exist- 
ence is  a  doom  and  distress  here.  Men  are  born  to  it, 
and,  through  narrow  circumstances,  compelled  to  con 
tinue  it  when  every  instinct  and  taste  revolt  at  it. 

Woe  to  the  mortal  obliged  to  drudge  in  the  Great 
City  through  all  the  months  of  the  year,  and  unable, 
toil  as  he  may,  to  emancipate  himself  from  the  tyranny 
of  boarding-houses.  Like  Ixion,  he  is  bound  to  the 
ever-revolving  wheel.  Like  Tantalus,  he  is  promised 
satisfaction  that  never  comes.  Work  at  his  business ; 
annoyance  in  his  home — the  only  one  he  has — he  vege- 
tates through  existence,  and  dies  at  last  consoled  by 
the  hope  that  in  the  next  world  boarding-houses  are 
impossible. 


206  The  Great  Metropolis. 

Boarding-houses  here  include  so  many  varieties  that 
no  social  Agassiz  could  enumerate  them.  They  extend 
all  the  way  from  the  extensive  establishment  in  Union 
square,  where  boarders  must  be  specially  recommended, 
to  the  sailors'  staying-place,  where  robbery  is  a  system 
and  murder  a  variation.  Generally,  however,  they 
may  be  divided  into  two  great  classes — those  that  as- 
pire to  be  genteel  or  fashionable,  and  those  that  do 
not.  Having  gone  through  the  former,  few  persons 
would  have  energy  or  curiosity  enough  to  continue 
their  experience.  They  would  conclude  that  the  up- 
per strata  contained  all  that  is  worth  knowing,  or  that 
humanity  is  capable  of  bearing. 

The  fashionable  boarding-house  is  the  characteristic, 
and,  phenomenally  considered,  the  interesting  class 
which  chiefly  claims  consideration.  The  boarding- 
house  of  such  pretension  is  of  fair  and  of  promising 
exterior  and  in  the  best  quarters  of  the  City.  But  it 
is  of  the  Dead  Sea  apple  complexion  ;  and  they  who 
would  not  find  ashes  and  bitterness  must  not  go  be- 
neath the  surface.  Fourth,  Eighth,  Tenth,  Fourteen^ 
and  nearly  all  the  cross  streets,  with  such  neighbor- 
hoods as  Union,  Madison  and  Stuyvesant  squares, 
bloom  with  fashionable  boarding-houses,  to  which  men 
who  work  with  their  hands,  and  are  incapable  of  pay- 
ing at  least  $12  or  $15  a  week,  are  inadmissible. 

They  are  usually  kept  by  women  who  have  made 
the  business  a  study  and  an  economy ;  who  have,  by 
long  experience,  learned  the  expansive  power  of 
every  dollar,  and  the  fullest  value  of  every  fraction  of 
postal  currency,  with  the  rare  cheapness  and  advan- 
tage of  pretension. 

Widows  for  the  most  part  preside  over  the  desti- 


The  Boarding-Houses.  207 

nies  of  boarding  houses,  having  been  driven  to  that  oc- 
cupation by  stress  of  fortune.  Whatever  their  original 
gentleness,  generosity  and  womanliness,  their  perpet- 
ual struggle  with  life  and  the  countless  perplexities 
and  anxieties  of  their  situation,  make  them  hard,  selfish, 
sour  and  narrow.  They  see  the  sphere  at  only  one 
angle,  and  that  the  most  acute  one.  Their  whole 
thought,  and  feeling,  and  aspiration  is  embraced  in 
making  both  ends  meet, — in  solving  the  ignoble  prob- 
lem, "How  shall  I  live?'' 

Any  cosmopolite  knows  a  boarding-house  proprie- 
tress at  a  single  glance.  She  has  emanations  that  re- 
veal her  at  once,  much  as  she  varies  in  form.  She  is 
generally  very  thin  and  haggard,  in  worn  and  thread- 
bare attire,  with  a  cold,  yet  nervous  and  anxious  man- 
ner, as  if  all  her  blood  and  sympathy  had  gone  out  of 
her  with  the  last  payment  of  rent.  Or  she  is  large 
and  fleshy,  tawdry  in  dress,  with  high  cheek-bones  and 
high  color,  sharp,  gimlet  eyes,  staring  at  every  man  as 
if  he  were  a  delinquent  boarder,  and  at  every  woman 
as  if  she  suspected  her  of  an  intrigue,  and  were  de- 
termined to  get  at  her  secret.  She  is  always  looking 
for  bargains  in  furniture,  millinery  and  provisions,  and 
vaguely  expects  that,  when  the  World  comes  to  an  end, 
she  will  be  able  to  buy  it  cheap,  and  have  the  only 
genteel  boarding-house  in  either  hemisphere. 

When  you  enter  a  tall,  handsome  brown-stone  front, 
exactly  like  its  next  door  neighbor,  where  the  Wall 
street  banker  or  Beaver  street  merchant  resides  in  the 
midst  of  velvet  carpets,  ormolu  clocks  and  classic 
bronzes,  you  cannot  help  but  be  surprised.  The  draw- 
ing rooms  look  dismal ;  the  furniture  worn  and  scanty ; 
the  stairways  treacherous  and  untidy ;  the  walls  soiled 


208  The  Gkeat  Metropolis. 

and  of  marvelous  acoustic  property.  Nothing  like 
comfort  or  content  anywhere,  but  the  opposite  of  what 
you  mean  when  you  talk  of  home. 

Probably  you  see  a  table  set  in  the  back  parlor,  and, 
if  it  be  Winter,  a  feeble  semblance  of  a  fire,  that  must 
be  dreadfully  skeptical  at  times  of  its  own  existence ; 
for,  like  the  lodger  in  the  fourth  story,  it  is  always  going 
out.  Everything  that  meets  your  eye  is  thin  and  un- 
real, save  the  landlady,  who  weighs  two  hundred,  and 
stands  in  hourly  dread  of  her  own  appetite.  Though 
by  no  means  lovable,  you  cannot  but  admire  the  ex- 
treme shrewdness  she  manifests  when  you  talk  of  be- 
coming a  boarder.  She  drives  you  into  every  finan- 
cial corner,  and  gives  you  to  understand  you  can  ob- 
tain no  advantage  over  her.  You  might  as  well  try  to 
buy  treasury  notes  at  a  discount  of  Simon  Israels  in 
Chatham  square,  as  make  anything  out  of  her.  Her 
whole  expression  says,  "Ive  seen  men  like  you  before. 
I'm  an  unprotected  w^oman ;  but  you  can't  impose 
upon  me." 

She  shows  you  through  the  rooms,  and  informs  you 
of  the  genteel  character  of  her  boarders.  She  never 
takes  any  one  that  she  doesn't  know  all  about.  She 
prefers  nice  people  to  common  people,  even  if  the 
latter  have  money.  She  has  been  well  reared  herself, 
and  would  have  been  wealthy  still,  if  poor,  dear  Mr. 
Dobbs  hadn't  gone  on  the  paper  of  his  friends, 
and  lost  his  entire  fortune.  (Dobbs  I  know  personally. 
The  only  fortune  he  had  was  the  ill-fortune  of  marry- 
ing the  present  Mrs.  Dobbs.  She  led  him  such  a 
crooked  life  that  he  took  to  brandy  straight,  and 
walked  off  the  dock  one  night  in  preference  to  w^alk- 
ing  into  his  wife's  bed-chamber.) 


I 


The  Boarding-Houses.  209 

She  gives  you  a  biographical  account  of  all  her 
boarders  ;  declares  you  ought  to  know  them  ;  that 
you  would  be  delighted  with  them ;  that  her  house  is 
like  a  home ;  that  she  has  frequently  thought  of  giv- 
ing up  the  business,  but  that  her  boarders  wouldn't  let 
her.  Her  young  men,  she  believes,  really  love  her, 
(no  accounting  for  tastes,  you  remember,  though  your 
incredulity  isn't  great  enough  for  that,)  and  would  be 
quite  inconsolable  if  she  ever  should  give  up.  She 
ventures  the  opinion  that  they  would  marry  if  they 
couldn't  board  with  her. 

You  reflect  which  of  the  two  evils  will  be  the 
greater;  conclude  to  enlist  underthe  petticoat-banner 
of  Mrs.  Dobbs;  and  disregard  matrimony  and  fresh 
butter  forevermore. 

At  the  table,  all  the  boarders  meet.  They  are  very 
punctual,  having  learned  by  familiar  hunger  that  to 
him  who  has  an  appetite  delays  are  dangerous,  and,  if 
often  repeated,  will  be  fatal.  Boarding-house  life  en- 
forces punctuality,  though  it  does  not  satisfy  the  palate. 
But  what  are  the  senses  to  the  social  virtues  ? 

The  boarding-house  is  fashionable.  Pray  bear  that 
in  mind,  and  let  the  fact  console  you  for  any  short- 
comings in  the  larder  or  any  peculiarities  of  the  landlady. 

You  have  all  the  courses  at  dinner — soup,  fish,  pas- 
try and  dessert — ^but  scantily  served,  ill-cooked  and 
uninviting,  though  on  unexceptionable  crockery  and 
well-washed  tablecloths.  The  meals  are  long  drawn 
out,  not  because  there  is  much  to  eat,  but  because  the 
waiters  are  few  aind  slow  of  motion.  Dinner  especially 
is  a  prolonged  agony,  in  which  a  deal  of  commonplace 
talk  is  made  to  supply  the  precepts  of  Blot  and  the 
dainty  abundance  of  Delmonico. 

14 


210  The  Great  Metropolis. 

If  a  hew  comer,  you  are  ii^troduced  to  Mr.  Wiggle, 
salesman  in  Franklin  street ;  to  Mr.  Newcomb,  a  law- 
student  at  Columbia  college  ;  to  Mr.  Pritchard,  a  re- 
porter on  a  morning  paper ;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Humdrum, 
newly  married,  who  came  from  Hartford,  and  who  still 
deem  it  necessary  to  make  love  to  each  other  in  pub- 
lic, because  their  instinct  tells  them  they  will  soon  cease 
to  do  so  in  private.  Miss  Ridgw^ay,  who  gives  music- 
lessons  and  sings  sentimental  gongs  over  the  tuneless 
piano  in  the  front  parlor,  but  who  believes  she  must 
find  a  husband  ere  long,  is  presented  and  seeks  to  cap- 
tivate you  with  her  milk-and-water  eyes.  Several 
others  are  there,  but  they  are  too  insignificant  to  re- 
member, and  too  much  occupied  with  getting  some- 
thing to  eat  to  waste  opportunities  in  conversation. 

During  the  entire  week — dinner  is  reserved  for  the 
flow  of  soul —  you  are  interested  to  perceive  how 
many  words  can  be  spoken  without  ideas,  and  what 
amount  of  giggle  is  required  for  every  silly  speech. 

The  theaters,  the  opera,  the  newspapers,  the  gossip 
and  the  scandal  of  the  town,  interspersed  with  the  re- 
port of  the  alarming  price  of  provisions  from  Mrs. 
Dobbs,  and  wonderings  how  she  shall  get  along,  (evi- 
dently intended,  from  her  oblique  looks  at  Wiggle  and 
Newcomb,  to  be  understood  personally,)  are  diluted 
and  distilled  through  an  hour  or  two  of  hunger  waiting 
on  appetite. 

Several  of  the  masculine  boarders  tell  their  singular 
experiences  of  last  night  or  last  year,  albeit  you  can- 
not see  wherein  they  are  singular,  and  are  conse- 
quently considered  stupid  by  the  narrators  from  your 
bland  expression  of  face.  Miss  Ridgway  declares 
men  are  such  deceivers ;  that  they  now  love  every 


The  Boarding-Houses.  211 

woman  they  meet ;  that  they  have  n't  a  particle  of 
heart ;  and  that  no  girl  can  believe  them  now-a-days. 
By  way  of  rejoinder,  a  Mr.  Luffy,  who  is  rejoicing  over 
an  incipient  pair  of  mutton-chop  whiskers,  and  who 
fancies  he  is  like  Don  Giovanni  because  he  has  found 
favor  in  the  eyes  of  the  chamber-maid  and  the  cook 
asserts  with  a  loud  laugh  that  life  is  played  out ;  that 
love's  a  nipdf  thing  to  talk  about  in  the  country,  but 
that  it  won't  go  down  in  New- York. 

Everything  has  an  end  and  the  dreary  dinner  is  no 
exception.  The  boarders  go  to  the  parlor  and  talk 
more  nonsense  than  at  the  table.  Miss  Ridgway  asks 
Norma  to  hear  her,  and  tells  Robert  she  loves  him,  at 
the  piano,  though  it  is  very  doubtful  whether  Norma 
or  Robert  care  anything  about  her.  Some  members 
of  the  company  stroll  out ;  some  fall  asleep,  and  others 
seem  to  feel  a  real  interest  in  each  other. 

Humdrum  sighs  for  billiards  and  departs  in  search  of 
them  ;  while  Luffy,  profiting  by  the  husband's  absence, 
tries  to  be  gallant  to  the  wife,  who  draws  away  her 
hand,  and  tells  the  youth  to  his  whiskers  he  is  a  fool. 
The  disappointed  Faublas  blushes  very  red,  and  is  so 
crestfallen  that  he  seizes  his  hat,  and,  going  down 
Broadway,  consoles  himself  with  a  "pretty  waiter  girl'* 
in  the  Louvre.  He  returns  home  at  two  in  the  morn- 
ing, with  a  bad  hiccough — a  general  impression  that 
"those  d — d  houses"  are  trying  to  crowd  him  off  the 
sidewalk,  and  with  a  particular  conviction  that  he'll 
break  Mrs.  Humdrum's  heart  for  the  rebuff  she  gave 
him.  "Yes  (hie),"  he  says  to  the  unsympathetic 
lamp-post,  with  a  wave  of  the  hand,  "when  she  longs 
(hie)  for  the  shelter  of  these  arms,  I'll  (hie)  cast  her  off 
forever. " 


212  The  Great  Metropolis.' 

Mrs.  Humdrum,  after  the  exodus  of  Luffj,  retires  to 
her  room  in  a  high  state  of  indignation ;  but  opens 
her  door  to  Mr,  Ilicks,  her  husband's  employer, 
who  has  called  to  see  her  lord  and  master  on  par- 
ticular business;  and,  by  way  of  showing  her  confi- 
dence in  the  gentleman,  puts  her  head  on  his  shoulder, 
and  asks  him  if  he  thinks  a  woman  can  love  two  men 
at  the  same  time. 

At  9  o'clock  Mrs.  Dobbs  is  left  alone  in  the  parlor 
with  a  Mr.  Jones,  one  of  the  silent  men  at  the  table, 
who  now  finds  his  tongue,  and  vows  he  adores  her  with 
his  whole  soul.  She  leans  upon  his  paletot,  and  says 
she  likes  him  for  his  delicacy  of  feeling,  (perhaps  she 
would  be  glad  to  say  the  same  of  his  appetite),  and 
hopes  he  won't  come  home  drunk  any  more. 

Jones'  private  history  is,  that  he  has  no  money,  and 
is  too  dissipated  to  keep  a  situation.  Largely  in  ar- 
rears for  board,  he  pays  court  to  the  landlady,  (at 
her  age  and  weight,  she  considers  the  love-making  com- 
plimentary, and  as  a  kind  of  ofP-set  to  his  indebted- 
ness;) occasionally  borrowing  five  dollars  of  her,  return- 
able in  kisses  savoring  of  tobacco  and  lager-bier. 

Miss  Eidgway  has  two  devoted  admirers.  One  she 
receives  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  other  in  the  evening ; 
giving  them  good  reason  to  believe  she  worships  both 
of  them.  Neither  of  them  has  proposed  as  yet ;  but  it 
is  quite  time  they  did.  She  would  accept  both,  if  she 
had  no  fear  of  the  law  against  bigamy;  for  she  has 
solved  the  problem  that  seems  to  trouble  Mrs.  Hum- 
drum. 

Certain  it  is  that  Miss  Ridgway,  and  Mrs.  Dobbs,  and 
Mrs.  Humdrum  are  not  prudent  women ;  but  they  make 
up  for  any  lack  in  that  direction  by  saying  extremely 


The  Boarding-Houses.  213 

ill-natured  things  of  their  feminine  acquaintances,  who 
do  not  act  half  so  badly  as  thej.  That  is  a  woman's 
compensation,  and  should  be  accepted  from  the  injus- 
tice with  which  it  is  made. 

Mrs,  Dobbs  has  a  great  many  boarding-houses  on 
this  island,  and  Miss  Ridgway  and  Mrs.  Humdrum  are 
generally  to  be  found  there,  though  they  are  called  by 
different  names. 

Cloelia  and  Pulcheria  board  there  too ;  but  they  do 
not  like  it  a  whit.  How  can  they  help  themselves? 
They  are  pretty,  and  good,  and  discreet;  but  Plutus 
answers  not  their  prayers ;  and  he  above  all  other 
deities  emanicipates  mortals  on  the  island  of  Manhat- 
tan. 

The  refined,  and  generous,  and  hungry  souls  who 
are,  from  want  of  money,  obliged  to  dwell  in  boarding- 
houses,  are  to  be  profoundly  pitied ;  for  your  board- 
ing-houses, even  the  best  of  them,  are  a  wretched 
make-believe,  and  a  social  evil  only  the  sufferers  can 
completely  understand.  Persons  who  keep  them,  and 
through  whom  they  are  kept,  deserve  sympathy. 
Boarding-houses  are  unnatural,  and  the  result  of  an 
over-crowded  civilization.  Every  one  must  pity  the 
man  born  with  a  soul  above  a  boarding-house,  who  is 
still  compelled  to  keep  his  body  there,  with  an  appe- 
tite he  cannot  appease,  and  through  circumstances  he 
cannot  control. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
HORACE     GREELEY. 

Horace  Greeley  is,  in  all  probablity,  the  best  known 
man  in  America.  No  remote  corner  of  the  Republic 
that  has  not  heard  of  the  editor-in-chief  of  the  New- 
York  Tribune.  His  name  is  repeated  in  Arkansas  as 
an  exorcism  to  mosquitoes,  and  even  New  Zealand  is 
not  unmindful  of  his  fame. 

He  has  been  written  about  more  than  any  American 
of  his  time,  and  is  a  standing  theme  for  gossips 
who  indite  letters  from  New-York.  James  Parton 
made  his  first  fame  by  his  biography  of  Greeley,  which 
he  has  recently  completed  to  the  present  time,  and 
which,  in  revised  form,  has  recently  been  issued  from 
the  press. 

Much  as  is  known  of  Horace  Greeley  as  a  journalist, 
politician  and  reformer,  he  is  little  understood  as  a  man. 
All  sorts  of  tales  are  told  of  him,  and,  as  he  is  ex- 
tremely eccentric,  many  of  the  most  extravagant  sto- 
ries are  widely  believed.  His  absent-mindedness  is 
largely  insisted  on,  and  I  have  often  heard  it  stated 
with  gravity,  that  he  keeps  a  boy  in  the  Trihune^  es- 
pecially to  inform  him,  at  a  stated  hour,  whether  he 
has  eaten  his  dinner,  and  what  his  name  was  when  he 
entered  the  office. 


Horace  Greeley.  215 

Thos'e  personally  acquainted  with  Greeley  are  as 
much  amused  as  he  no  doubt  is,  by  the  absurd  gossip 
respecting  him.;  for  they  know  that  shrewdness  and 
uncommon  sense  are  among  his  most  marked  charac- 
teristics. 

Horace  Greeley  was  born  on  the  3d  of  February, 
1811,  in  Amherst,  N.  H.,  of  very  poor,  and,  neces- 
sarily, therefore,  very  honest  parents.  Of  his  hard 
work  on  his  father's  sterile  farm ;  of  his  early  precocity ; 
of  his  devouring  of  books  when  he  was  obliged  tp 
read  by  the  light  of  pine  knots ;  of  his  apprenticeship 
— very  unlike  Wilhelm  Meistep-'s — to  the  printing 
business ;  his  severe  struggle  with  fortune  ;  his  wan- 
dering from  one  village  paper  to  another,  both  his 
biographer  and  himself  have  told  at  length. 

He  came  to  New- York  in  August,  1831,  a  pale,  thin, 
awkward  country  boy,  looking  like  Smike,  and  though 
over  twenty,  he  seemed  at  least  ^ve  years  younger. 
I  have  often  heard  him  described  as  he  wandered  up 
and  down  Nassau,  William  and  Chatham  streets,  in  his 
worn  shoes  and  short  trousers,  his  flimsy  hat  and  thin, 
flaxen  hair,  all  his  worldly  goods  in  a  handkerchief  at 
the  end  of  a  stick,  thrown  over  his  shoulder,  seeking 
for  work,  work  at  any  price,  and  determined  to  get  it; 
believing  then,  as  now,  that  in  work  and  by  work  all 
things  are  accomplished.  He  had  only  $10  in  his 
pocket ;  but  he  had  faith  in  his  industry,  his  patience, 
his  energy,  and  that  faith  was  a  fortune  beyond  cal- 
culation. 

For  ten  years  he  set  type  and  wrote,  connecting 
himself  with  various  newspaper  enterprises,  and  always 
failing,  but  never  losing  hope,  until,  on  the  10th  of 
April,  1841,  he  issued  the  first  number  of  the  New- 


216  The  Great  Metropolis. 

York  Tribune^  himself  selecting  the  name  that  has 
grown  famous,  and  which,  as  a  mere  name  for  a  truly 
democratic  paper,  has  no  equal  in  the  World.  The 
Tribune  was  something  new,  and  far  in  advance  of  any 
daily  paper  of  that  time  in  tone,  breadth  and  force ;  its 
key-note  from  the  start  being  humanity,  a  fair  chance 
for  all  men.  I  never  realized  how  excellent  a  paper  it 
was  in  the  beginning  until  I  looked  over  its  early  files ; 
and  I  can't  help  thinking  that  it  was,  considering  the 
great  advance  in  journalism  since,  much  abler  and 
more  interesting  in  its  first  years  than  it  is  now. 

From  the  day  he  started  the  Trihune — the  darling 
of  his  journalistic  heart,  to  which  no  other  darling  is 
comparable — to  the  present  time,  its  editor's  career 
has  been  one  of  unflagging  labor.  One  may  well  say 
of  him  what  Clarendon  said  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh — 
he  can  toil  dreadfully.  He  has  a  mania  for  work  that 
persons  of  luxurious  temperament  can  hardly  compre- 
hend. I  have  often  fancied  that  by  such  constant 
occupation  men  like  him  either  work  out  any  discon- 
tent and  bitterness  they  may  have,  or  so  revenge  them- 
selves upon  themselves  for  the  dissatisfactions  of  life. 
The  amount  of  work  Greeley  accomplishes  every  year 
is  something  incredible.  He  finds  his  chief  happiness 
in  work,  as  other  men  do  in  recreation. 

Every  day  that  he  is  in  the  City — and  he  never 
leaves  it  except  on  urgent  business,  or  to  keep  an  en- 
gagement to  speak  or  lecture — he  writes  at  least  two 
columns  for  the  Tribune^  not  to  speak  of  his  contribu- 
tions to  various  other  publications,  which,  I  presume, 
average  six  columns'  space  of  his  paper  each  week. 
He  speaks  and  lectures  fifty  or  sixty  times  a  year,  and 
makes,  every  month,  a  trip  to  Albany  or  Washington, 


Horace  Greeley.  217 

to  regulate,  according  to  his  own  views,  the  affairs  of 
the  State  or  Nation.  He  writes,  with  his  own  hand, 
fifteen  to  twenty-five  private  letters  a  day ;  pores  over 
the  papers  like  a  man  who  is  paid  for  it ;  reads  all  the 
books  of  any  note  that  come  out,  whether  cf  philoso- 
phy, history,  poetry  or  romance ;  and  sees  more  people 
on  every  conceivable  and  inconceivable  business  than 
any  man  on  the  island  of  Manhattan. 

When  he  was  writing  his  "American  Conflict,"  he 
found  it  necessary  to  conceal  himself  somewhere  to 
prevent  constant  interruption.  He  accordingly  took 
a  room  in  the  Bible  House,  where  he  worked  from  ten 
in  the  morning  until  five  in  the  afternoon,  and  then 
appeared  in  the  sanctum,  seemingly  as  fresh  and  as 
anxious  to  write  as  if  he  had  been  on  one  of  his  theo- 
retical fishing  expeditions  for  a  number  of  weeks. 

When  people  use  the  stereotyped  phrase  "I  want 
to  see  a  man,"  I  am  sure  the  anonymous  individual  is 
Horace  Greeley,  who  is  certainly  the  most  sought  and 
inquired-after  person  in  New-York. 

Beggars  of  all  kinds,  politicians  of  all  schools,  re- 
formers of  all  types,  counsel-seekers  of  all  degrees  of 
weakness,  are  in  perpetual  pursuit  of  Horace  Greeley. 
So  much  is  this  the  case  that,  some  months  ago,  his 
sanctum  on  the  editorial  floor  was  demolished,  and  a 
den  prepared  for  him  in  the  impenetrable  recesses  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  counting-room.  Some  thousands 
have  attempted  to  find  him  there  ;  but  as  the  last 
heard  from  them  was  a  mingled  groan  and  maledic- 
tion, amid  the  howling  darkness  of  the  press-room, 
it  is  believed  they  paid  the  penalty  of  their  rash  cu- 
riosity. 

Horace  Greeley's  home,  to  which  he  goes  every 


218  The  Great  Metropolis. 

Saturday,  and  where  he  spends  twenty-four  hours,  is 
at  Chappaqua,  on  the  Harlem  Railway,  about  twenty- 
five  or  thirty  miles  from  the  City.  He  has  a  pleasant 
and  highly  cultivated  farm  there,  of  some  forty  acres, 
in  which  the  eminent  journalist  has  spent  most  of  his 
earnings,  and  which  will  not  pay  him  on  the  invest- 
ment, more  than  one  cent  on  each  one  hundred  dollars. 
With  the  return  he  is  entirely  satisfied,  as  he  considers 
that  his  money  has  been  devoted  to  the  cause  of  agri- 
culture, one  of  H.  G.'s  favorite  hobbies,  and  in  which 
he  has  always  taken  the  deepest  interest.  His  farm  is 
a  fancy  farm  in  the  completest  sense  ;  and  those  who 
ought  to  know  say  that  every  beet  and  turnip  he  raises 
is  worth,  so  far  as  his  outlay  is  concerned,  twice  its 
weight  in  gold. 

At  Chappaqua  he  amuses  himself  by  chopping  wood 
— that  is  what  he  conceives  to  be  recreation — and 
playing  at  digging  ditches,  with  kindred  light  pleas- 
ures, while  the  daylight  lasts.  Sunday  morning  he 
returns  to  town,  attends  Dr.  E.  H.  Chapin's  (Univer- 
salist)  Church,  of  which  he  is  a  member,  and  after  the 
service  bursts"  into  his  den  down  town,  and  for  the 
next  six  hours  makes  diagrams  of  Boston  in  ink,  and 
calls  them  editorials. 

Horace  Greeley  married  in  his  youth  a  pretty  and 
intelligent  New-England  girl,  whom  he  found  teaching 
school  in  North- Carolina,  and  by  whom  he  has  had 
three  children.  His  boy,  of  whom  he  was  passionately 
fond,  and  who  was  an  extremely  precocious  and  prom- 
ising child,  died  years  ago,  and  has  ever  since  been 
mourned  by  his  father,  with  a  grief  that  has  hardly 
yet  been  comforted.  His  two  daughters,  Gabrielle 
and  Ida,  aged  respectively  nine  and  eighteen,  are  said 


Horace  Greeley.  219 

to  inherit  mucli  of  their  father's  intellect  and  their 
mother's  strength  of  character. 

The  editor-in-chief  of  the  Trihune  has  always  been 
very  charitable,  and,  until  within  a  few  years,  was  in 
the  habit  of  giving  money  to  whoever  asked  for  it. 
It  is  said  he  has,  as  a  miscellaneous  alms-giver,  parted 
with  $50,000  to  $60,000  since  he  started  the  journal 
of  w^hich  he  is  naturally  ambitious  to  be  known  as  the 
founder. 

His  personal  appearance,  carelessness  of  dress,  (he 
is  always  neat,  and  has  a  Beethoven-like  fondness  for 
the  bath,)  passion  for  politics,  vagaries  of  conduct, 
frequent  irritability  and  alleged  injustice  to  his  friends, 
require  no  chronicling.  He  has  all  through  life  shown 
an  unswerving  devotion  to  principle,  and,  though  by 
no  means  free  from  faults,  this  generation,  and  genera- 
tions to  come,  will  do  him  the  justice  to  say  that  no 
man  of  his  time  has  done  more  for  humanity,  or  to 
educate  the  people  to  a  sense  of  right,  than  Horace 
Greeley.  Like  the  naughty  woman  mentioned  by 
Aretino,  he  is  (according  to  his  political  opponents) 
always  ruining  himself;  but  each  ruin  seems  to  es- 
tablish him  more  firmly  in  the  confidence  of  the  peo- 
ple. They  believe  in  his  earnest  endeavor  to  do  right, 
and  to  lead  where  his  understanding  of  truth  directs 
him.  Whatever  his  defects,  he  could  not  wisely  ex- 
change his  prospects  for  immortality  with  those  of  any 
man  in  America. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 
FIFTH    AVE  NUE. 

Of  the  fifteen  or  sixteen  avenues  of  the  City,  Fifth 
is  known  as  the  Avenue  by  way  of  distinction.  It  is, 
by  all  odds,  the  most  handsome  and  exclusive  street 
of  the  Metropolis — the  only  one  that  has  thus  far  re- 
sisted the  encroachments  of  trade  and  railways,  and 
defied  the  peculiar  regulations  of  our  municipal  gov- 
ernment. Every  few  months  an  innovation  is  at- 
tempted upon  the  fashionable  thoroughfare,  which  has 
too  much  strength,  through  its  wealth,  to  submit  to 
any  vulgar  alteration  in  its  settled  courses. 

Fifth  avenue  exclusiveness  must  be  purchased  at 
large  prices ;  for  it  always  offers  temptations  to  private 
speculators  and  corrupt  legislators.  It  even  prefers 
fashion  to  fortune,  for  the  reason  that  it  has  more  of 
the  latter  than  the  former,  and  it  would  rather  be 
over-generous  than  under-genteel. 

''Let  me  alone;  let  me  be  as  I  want  to,"  says  the 
Avenue  to  outside  barbarians,  in  nervous  anxiety,  its 
hand  upon  its  purse,  "  and  I  will  pay  without  stint  the 
most  exorbitant  of  demands." 

Street  railways  are  the  periodic  terror  of  the  Ave- 
nue. Though  loud  threats  are  made  to  put  them 
there,  there  is  little  danger  of  their  establishment ;  for 
the  prosperous  quarter  knows  better  than  Walpole  that 
few  men  fail  to  be  convinced  by  monetary  arguments. 


Fifth  Avenue.  221 

Who  has  the  most  money  wins  in  New- York,  where  the 
long  as  well  as  the  short  race  is  to  the  fullest  purse. 

Whenever  a  house  is  for  sale  or  rent  in  the  Avenue, 
its  residents  feel  a  profound  interest  in  the  character  of 
the  inmates  that  are  to  be.  They  dread  lest  the  man- 
sion may  be  converted  to  unworthy  uses ;  lest  they 
may  be  hourly  shocked  by  a  plebeian  neighbor  who 
is  what  they  themselves  were  twenty,  or  five  years,  or 
perhaps  a  few  months  before.  Their  vigilance  is  sleep- 
less in  this  regard,  still  they  have  often  been  com- 
pelled to  buy  out  common  tradesmen,  and  ambitious 
courtesans,  and  enterprising  blacklegs,  who  had  pur- 
chased an  abiding  place  in  the  socially  sacred  vicinage. 
There  have  been  those  whom  bank  accounts  and  bank 
checks  could  not  persuade.  Madame  Restell,  the  no- 
torious abortionist,  and  gamblers  by  the  score,  and 
Cyprians  by  the  dozen,  have  penetrated  into  the  street, 
and  cannot  be  gotten  rid  of  for  largess  or  for  logic. 

Yet  the  energy  and  munificence  of  the  Avenue, 
in  the  endeavor  to  keep  out  the  unanointed,  is  com- 
mendable from  its  stand-point,  and  in  another  direction, 
would  be  productive  of  no  little  good. 

It  is  a  defect  of  our  perception  that  we  expend  our 
strength  against  the  current  of  events. 

It  is  the  habit  of  New-Yorkers  to  style  Fifth  avenue 
the  first  street  in  America.  So  far  as  wealth,  and  ex- 
tent and  uniformity  and  buildings  go,  it  probably  is. 
But  in  situation,  it  is  far  inferior  to  many  thorough- 
fares I  might  name.  Beginning  at  Washington  square, 
it  extends  above  Harlem  ;  and,  far  as  Fifty-ninth  street, 
it  is  almost  an  unbroken  line  of  brown-stone  palaces. 
The  architecture  is  not  only  impressive,  it  is  oppressive. 
Its  great  defect  is  in  its  monotony,  which  soon  grows 


222  The  Great  Metropolis. 

tiresome.  A  variation,  a  contrast — something  mucli 
less  ornate  or  elaborate — would  be  a  relief.  Its  lack 
of  enclosures,  of  ground,  of  grass  plats,  of  gardens  is  a 
visual  vice. 

Block  after  block,  mile  upon  mile,  of  the  same  lofty 
brown-stone,  high-stoop,  broad-staired  fronts  wearies 
the  eye.  It  is  like  the  perpetual  red  brick,  with  white 
steps  and  white  door  and  window  facings  for  which 
Philadelphia  has  become  proverbial. 

One  longs  in  the  Avenue  for  more  marble,  more 
brick,  more  iron,  more  wood  even — some  change  in 
the  style  and  aspects  of  the  sombre-seeming  houses, 
whose  occupants,  one  fancies  from  the  exterior,  look, 
think,  dress  and  act  alike.  One  might  go,  it  appears, 
into  any  drawing-room  between  the  Park  and  old  Pa- 
rade-ground, and  he  would  be  greeted  with  the  same 
forms ;  see  the  same  gestures ;  hear  the  same  speeches. 

The  stately  mansions  give  the  impression  that  they 
have  all  dreamed  the  same  dream  of  beauty  the  same 
night,  and  in  the  morning  have  found  it  realized ;  so 
they  frown  sternly  upon  one  another,  for  each  has  what 
the  other  wished,  and  should  have  had  alone. 

The  slavish  spirit  of  imitation,  with  poverty  of  in- 
vention, has  spoiled  the  broad  thoroughfare  where  we 
should  have  had  the  Moorish  and  Gothic,  Ionic  and  Doric 
order,  Egyptian  weight  with  Italian  lightness,  Tudor 
strength  with  Elizabethan  picturesqueness. 

It  is  a  grievous  pity  that  where  there  is  so  much 
money  there  is  so  little  taste. 

The  sum  of  Fifth  avenue  wealth  is  unquestionably 
far  beyond  that  of  any  street  in  the  country.  The 
dwellings  cost  more ;  the  furniture  and  works  of  art  are 
more  expensive ;  the  incomes  of  the  inmates  are  larger 


Fifth  Avenue.  223 

and  more  prodigally  spent  than  they  arc  anywhere  else 
on  the  Continent 

The  interior  of  the  houses  is  often  gorgeous.  Noth- 
ing within  money's  purchase,  but  much  that  perfect 
taste  would  have  suggested,  seems  omitted.  Few  of 
the  mansions  that  do  not  reveal  something  like  tawdri- 
ness  in  the  excess  of  display.  The  outward  eye  is  too 
much  addressed.  The  profusion  is  a  trifle  barbaric. 
The  subtle  suggestions  of  complete  elegance  are  not 
there. 

Still,  to  those  who  have  suffered  from  the  absence  of 
material  comfort,  or  to  those  whose  temperaments  are 
voluptuous  and  indolent,  as  most  poetic  ones  are,  a 
feeling  akin  to  happiness  must  be  born  of  the  splendid 
surroundings  that  belong  to  the  homes  of  the  Fifth 
avenue  rich. 

What  soft  velvet  carpets  are  theirs ;  what  handsome 
pictures ;  what  rich  curtains  ;  what  charming  frescoes ; 
what  marbles  of  grace ;  what  bronzes  of  beauty ;  what 
prodigality  of  prettiness!  The  soft,  warm,  yet  fresh 
odor  of  luxury  comes  from  every  angle ;  fills  the  cor- 
ridors, and  the  delightful  chambers,  where  sleep  seems 
to  be  hidden  beneath  the  spotless  pillows  of  lace,  steals 
out  of  the  half-open  library,  where  hundreds  of  mo- 
rocco volumes  stand  silent  with  the  treasures  of  time 
and  mind  in  their  keeping ;  creeps  up  and  down  the 
stairways,  like  the  breath  of  flowers  blown  by  the 
gentle  wind. 

Whatever  the  senses  could  ask,  or  culture  require, 
or  fancy  crave,  might  be  had  in  the  walled  paradise 
of  those  splendid  homes.  Dishes  so  delicate  as  to 
tempt  the  most  surfeited  appetite ;  wines  rich  enough 
to  woo  an  anchorite  to  their  tasting ;  music       Mozart, 


224  The  Great  Metropolis. 

and  Mendelssohn,  and  Beethoven  to  cheer  and  soften, 
to  strengthen  and  console ;  tomes  of  bards  and  sages 
to  lift  the  thoughts  to  ideal  possibilities — all  these  are 
to  be  found  there.  Fair  harvests  may  be  gathered 
every  minute  of  the  day  or  night ;  and  he  who  takes 
not  up  the  golden  sickle  in  the  fragrant  field,  is  more 
to  be  pitied  than  he  who  sighs  for  flowers  in  a  sterile 
waste. 

Too  sad  for  tears  is  the  bitter  fact  that  everything 
palls;  that  the  highest  and  best  satisfies  only  for  a 
time.  They  who  live  in  the  midst  of  such  splendor 
grow  so  familiar  with  it  that  they  value  it  not.  They 
are  spared  a  certain  number  of  wants,  but  others  are 
felt  that  may  not  be  supplied.  The  spirit  is  not  satis- 
fied with  junketings ;  the  vacuities  of  the  heart  may 
not  be  filled  with  shows  of  pleasure  or  the  tinsel  of 
display. 

It  is  good  to  be  rich ;  but  it  is  better  to  be  con- 
tented. 

"Remove  the  banquet  where  Sympathy  will  not 
come,"  says  every  starving  soul  some  time  in  its  prog- 
ress, "and  spread  the  humblest  board  where  Love 
may  sit." 

See  that  fair  woman,  robed  like  a  queen — beauty  in 
face  and  form,  and  grace  in  every  motion. 

What  has  she  to  sigh  for?  What  can  she  need, 
with  wealth,  and  position,  and  friends,  and  a  generous 
heart  ? 

Nothing  that  she  has ;  everything  that  she  has  not. 
Iler  generous  heart,  that  should  have  been  her  blessing, 
has  proved  her  bane.  Her  husband  is  not  her  love, 
and  never  was.  She  is  wife  in  name  merely ;  and  to 
be  such  is  to  be  accursed  with  seeming.     She  is  mar- 


The  Fifth  Avenue.  225 

ried,  not  wedded ;  bound  in  law,  though  not  in  alFec- 
tion. 

She  obeyed  Fashion's  dictates,  and  Nature  exacts 
the  penalty. 

How  she  longs,  in  her  splendid  desolation,  for  the 
love  of  children  that  do  not  come  for  all  her  longing  ! 
How  she  thrills  in  sleep  with  the  kisses  of  the  babe 
that  kindly  dreams  send  to  her,  and  presses  the  airy 
cherub  to  her  unnursed  bosom !  The  tender  eyes 
open,  and  the  happiness  has  gone.  He  sleeps  heavily 
at  her  side,  and  she  shrinks  away  from  the  dreaded 
touch  that  always  wakes  her  like  a  shock. 

0,  the  woe  of  those  whom  Man  has  joined  together, 
and  God  does  not  put  asunder ! 

Tall  and  dignified  is  the  handsome-looking  man  who 
sits  abstracted  at  breakfast,  over  the  morning  paper, 
and  whom  the  money-article  does  not  even  attract. 
His  spouse  seems  cold,  and  his  children  distant,  grouped 
at  the  oval  table  amid  the  silence  of  unsympathy  that 
tells  what  words  cannot.  He  has  speculated,  and 
traveled,  and  gratified  such  ambitions  as  most  men 
have.  But  they  are  empty  in  this  hour — the  still,  in- 
trospective, conscientious  hour,  which  none  of  us  can 
wholly  escape. 

He  remembers  the  landscape  that  he  loved  to  look 
upon  fifteen  years  before — the  creeping  river,  and  the 
distant  village,  whose  spires  winked  through  the  twi- 
light ;  and  the  lithe  form  that  slipped  away  from  his 
arms  until  it  rested  on  the  grass,  and  the  little  head 
lay  still  in  sleep  upon  his  lap. 

He  remembers  the  coming  out  of  the  stars,  and  the 
bending  down  of  kissing  lips  to  the  brown  hair,  and 
the  walk  homeward,  when  the  milestones  would  not 
]5 


22G  The  Gkeat  Metiiopolis. 

stay  apart,  and  the  struggle  between  the  fascinations 
of  the  great  city  and  the  narrow  life  in  the  humble 
town,  and  the  surrender  of  love  to  stronger  lures. 

Alas,  he  left  his  happiness  behind,  and  learned  the 
truth  too  late ! 

It  is  with  all  of  us  as  it  is  with  him  and  her.  We 
miss  the  way  of  life  because  human  destiny  is  dark. 
We  discover  where  our  peace  was  when  we  can  no 
longer  grasp  it.  We  ask  for  the  beautiful  vase  we 
dashed  to  pieces  in  our  petulant  mood.  We  yearn  for 
the  impossible,  and  think  it  dearest  because  it  is  im- 
possible. 

Our  hearts  will  not  bear  examination.  Our  experi- 
ences may  not  be  told,  for  they  are  bitter,  and  teach 
nothing  even  to  ourselves. 

Let  the  World  spin  down  its  grooves,  and  let  us  spin 
with  it,  and  cry  amen  to  others'  prayers,  and  praise 
the  shams  that  are  put  upon  us  every  day  of  the 
year. 

Come  out  of  the  houses  that  are  not  homes.  Come 
into  the  street — the  crowded  Avenue  where  life  over- 
flows, and  drowns  disturbing  thought. 

What  a  glitter  of  carriages !  How  the  well-groomed 
horses  beat  the  pavement,  hour  after  hour,  all  the 
way  to  the  Park!  Those  men  and  those  women 
daintily  dressed,  wreathed  in  smiles,  are  not  like  him 
and  her  we  saw  within  those  handsome  walls. 

Oh !  no ;  they  have  no  skeletons  in  their  gilded  cab- 
inets. The  festering  wound  is  not  behind  those  clus- 
tering gems.  We  none  of  us  have  woes  to  speak  of 
to  the  many.  But  the  stern  angel  who  bears  about 
the  key  of  sympathy,  unlocks  velvet  doors  that  lead  to 
haunted  chambers  and  to  charnel  vaults. 


The  Fifth  Avenue.  227 

The  brown-stone  fronts,  with  all  their  likeness,  admit 
very  different  guests. 

The  people  who  live  side  by  side  in  the  pretentious 
Avenue,  know  each  other  not.  Knickerbocker  and 
parvenu,  the  inheritor  of  wealth  and  the  architect  of 
his  own  fortune,  the  genuine  gentleman  and  the  vulgar 
snob,  reside  in  the  same  block.  ^ 

•  One  house  is  visited  by  the  best  and  most  distin- 
guished ;  the  house  adjoining,  by  men  who  talk  loud 
in  suicidal  syntax,  and  women  who  wear  holyhocks  in 
their  hair,  and  yellow  dresses  with  pink  trimmings. 
Here  dwells  an  author  whose  works  give  him  a  large 
income ;  over  the  way,  a  fellow  who  has  a  genius  for 
money-getting,  but  who  cannot  solve  the  mysteries  of 
spelling. 

Into  this  plain  carriage  steps  a  self-poised,  low- 
voiced,  sweet-faced  woman,  while,  just  opposite,  a 
momentous  "female"  throws  herself  into  anew  lan- 
dau, and  orders  the  coachman  in  showy  livery,  to  drive 
to  "  Tiff'ny's  right  straight  before  all  them  diamonds 
is  gone." 

On  the  sidewalk,  Mrs.  Merrit  passes  quietly;  and 
her  perfect  air  of  good-breeding  is  not  altered  by  the 
high  tones  of  "Mrs.  Colonel  Tufthunter,"  who  says  to 
the  ho7ine  at  the  door,  ^^  Prend  garde  du  ma  infante 
jusque  je  revinsy 

At  this  the  honne^  who  chanced  to  be  born  in  Paris 
instead  of  Dublin,  looks  blank,  and  replies  in  good 
French,  which  her  mistress  no  more  understands  than 
did  the  maid  her  mistress'  barbarisms. 

Some  of  the  most  spacious  and  expensive  mansions 
in  the  Avenue  always  have  a  deserted  look.  Only  the 
occupants  and  servants  appear  on  the  high,   carved 


228  The  Great  Metropolis. 

stoop ;  only  the  carriages  the  master  of  the  establish- 
ment owns,  stop  before  the  door. 

That  family,  purchased  a  house  in  the  Avenue,  but 
Society  has  not  accepted  its  members.  They  have 
nothing  but  a  new  fortune  to  recommend  them.  They 
must  bide  their  time. 

The  first  generation  of  the  unrecognized  fares  hard. 
The  second  is  educated,  and  the  third  claims  lineage ; 
prates  of  "gentility,"  and  frowns  upon  what  its  grand- 
parents were. 

To  get  into  the  Avenue,  and  into  its  Society,  are 
different  things. 

They  who  struggle  to  enter  certain  circles  are  not 
wanted.  Those  who  are  indifferent  to  mere  fashion  are 
in  request ;  for  not  to  seek,  socially,  is  usually  to  be 
sought.  Destiny  appears  willing  always  to  grant  what 
we  do  not  want,  and  determined  to  withhold  what  we 
do. 

Very  many  of  these  houses  have  histories  that  would 
furnish  abundant  themes  for  the  old-fashioned,  three- 
volume  English  novel.  Every  day  that  passes  within 
them  would  supply  comedy  and  tragedy,  one  or  both, 
if  they  who  know  would  tell.  One  meets  there,  any 
time,  women  looking  so  pure  their  faces  would  almost 
contradict  facts,  yet  part  of  their  lives,  if  revealed, 
would  repel  their  dearest  friends.  Those  women  are 
good  and  bad,  as  we  understand  the  terms.  Their 
faults  would  shock,  and  their  virtues  win  us.  With 
our  foot  we  might  spurn ;  with  our  hand  we  should 
caress. 

Men  we  encounter  in  the  Avenue  have  the  angel 
and  devil  commingled  in  their  being.  They  are 
neither  so  faulty  nor  so  faultless  as  is  believed.     They 


The  Fifth  Avenue.  229 

are  half  divine,  yet  wholly  human.  They  represent 
the  World.  Circumstance  drives,  Temperament  binds 
them. 

Fifth  avenue  has  its  shams,  and  follies,  and  evils. 
But  go  there  or  elsewhere,  and,  when  we  have  pon- 
dered deeply  enough,  we  shall  see  that  Charity  ends 
what  Sympathy  begins. 


CHAPTER    XXIY. 
HENRY    J.     RAYMOND. 

Henry  Jaryis  Raymond  was  born  in  this  State,  in 
the  little  town  of  Lima,  on  the  24th  of  January,  1820; 
his  father  being  a  smafl  farmer,  whom  Henry  assisted 
in  the  field  while  a  mere  boy.  He  is  said  to  have 
been  a  very  hard  worker  for  a  little  fellow.  He  hoed 
potatoes  and  planted  corn  like  a  veteran,  and  riding 
horses  and  driving  cows  were  his  favorite  recreations. 

He  very  early  manifested  a  fondness  for  reading,  and 
before  he  was  eleven  years  of  age  had  consumed  all 
the  books  within  a  radius  of  ten  miles  of  his  father's 
home.  Henry  attended  the  Academy  of  his  native 
village,  and  in  his  fifteenth  year  taught  in  the  District 
school.  After  continuing  in  that  capacity  for  eighteen 
or  twenty  months,  he  went  to  the  University  of  Ver- 
mont, and  graduated  in  1840.  Very  soon  after,  he 
came  to  this  City  and  began  the  study  of  law,  support- 
ing himself  in  the  meantime  by  teaching  a  select  school 
for  young  ladies,  and  by  writing  for  a  weekly  literary 
paper  known  as  the  New-  Toi'ker.  In  his  first  teens  he 
had  shown  an  aptitude  and  passion  for  writing ;  and  while 
at  the  Academy  and  while  teaching  school  in  the  coun- 
try he  composed  verses  and  plays  of  a  very  superior 
order  for  one  of  his  years.  A  remarkable  versatility 
was  his  even  then.;  and  it  was  observed  that  he  could 


Henry  J.  Eaymond.  231 

take  almost  any  view  of  a  subject  and  write  on  it  with 
facility  and  apparent  earnestness.  In  the  debating 
societies,  too,  to  which  he  belonged,  he  could  espouse 
the  affirmative  or  negative  of  a  question,  and  support 
one  as  ably  as  the  other.  Sometimes — so  runs  the 
rumor — he  would  become  confused  in  his  arguments, 
and  leave  his  hearers  at  the  end  of  his  speeches  very 
much  in  doubt  which  side  he  was  on. 

The  more  Raymond  learned  of  law  the  less  he  seem- 
ed to  like  it,  and  the  more  he  wrote  for  publication  the 
fonder  he  became  of  it.  A  few  years  in  a  law  office 
made  him  conclude  journalism  was  his  forte,  and  when 
Horace  Greeley  established  the  Tribune^  Raymond  went 
into  the  offiae  as  associate  editor  at  the  princely  price 
of  $8  a  week,  working  on  an  average  about  thirteen  or 
fourteen  hours  a  day.  H.  G.,  who  is  a  perfect  fanatic 
concerning  labor,  and  who  thinks  that -a  man  only  or- 
dinarily industrious  is  a  mere  drone,  actually  urged 
Raymond  not  to  work  so  much ;  and  he  is  the  only 
person  the  editor-in-chief  of  the  Tribune  has  ever  found 
it  necessary  to  remonstrate  with  on  that  account. 

Raymond  was  a  capital  reporter,  and  distinguished 
himself  in  that  branch  of  journalism,  at  a  time,  too, 
when  reporting  was  a  rare  art. 

He  served  two  years  on  the  Tribune^  and  then  con- 
nected himself  with  the  Courier  and  Enquirer^  where 
he  continued  for  several  years.  In  1847  he  became  a 
book-reader  for  the  Harpers,  doing  also  different  kinds 
of  literary  work,  and  remained  with  them  ten  or  twelve 
years.  During  his  connection  with  the  Courier  and 
Enquirer  he  had  a  controversy  on  socialism  with 
Horace  Greeley  (the  latter  defending,  and  Raymond 
attacking,  it)  which  was  carried  on  with  zeal  and  abil- 


232  The  Great  Metropolis. 

ity  on  both  sides,  and  attracted  a  great  deal  of  public 
attention. 

In  1849  he  was  elected  to  the  State  Legislature  by 
the  Whigs,  and  was  very  conspicuous  in  debate,  for 
which  he  had  unquestionable  talent.  The  peculiarity 
of  his  school  days  was  repeated  in  public  life.  He 
seemed  by  the  force  of  his  own  argument,  to  convince 
himself  of  the  truth  of  the  opposite  side  from  that  he 
espoused.  He  was  re-elected  after  his  term  had  ex- 
pired, and  having  twice  served  the  State  he  went 
abroad  for  his  health,  which  had  become  delicate,  and 
remained  a  year.  In  1854  he  was  chosen  Lieutenant 
Governor  of  the  State,  and  was  very  recently  sent  to 
Congress.  He  is  now  out  of  politics  so  far  as  the  fill- 
ing of  offices  is  concerned,  and  he  is  reported  to  have 
said  that  he  will  keep  outj  having  learned  at  last  that 
a  newspaper  requires  all  a  man's  time,  and  that  the 
profession  of  a  journalist  is  the  highest  and  most  influ- 
ential of  any  in  the  land. 

September  8,  1851,  the  first  number  of  the  Times^ 
which  had  been  for  a  long  while  in  contemplation,  was 
issued — Raymond  upon  it  as  editor-in-chief — and  it  is 
said  he  had  over  twelve  columns  of  his  matter  in  the 
initial  issue.  The  Times  was  published  at  first  for  a 
cent  and  afterwards  increased  to  two  cents.  It  was 
well  received  from  the  start,  though  $90,000  were  sunk 
in  the  concern  before  it  began  to  make  any  return.  Of 
late  years  it  has  grown  quite  profitable,  and  though  its 
circulation  varies  considerably  its  regular  profits  are 
about  $80,000  per  annum. 

Raymond  is  a  very  fluent  and  easy  writer,  and  it 
has  often  been  stated  in  the  office  that  if  the  days  were 
a  little  longer  he  would  write  up  the  whole  paper. 


Hexry  J.  Raymond.  233 

Paragraphs,  reviews,  dramatic  and  musical  criticisms, 
sketches,  general  editorials,  political  leaders,  all  are 
alike  to  him.  He  is,  no  doubt,  the  most  versatile 
writer  on  the  New-Tork  press.  One  of  his  most  re- 
markable performances  was  his  article  on  the  death  of 
Daniel  Webster.  It  filled  nearly  fifteen  columns  of  the 
Times  j  was  written  at  one  sitting,  and  in  the  incredi- 
bly short  space  of  twelve  hours. 

Almost  every  one  remembers  the  article  which  ap- 
peared in  the  Times^  some  years  ago,  in  which  "the 
elbows  of  the  Mincio,"  "  the  sweet  sympathies  of  youth" 
and  other  incoherent  phrases  were  strangely  blended, 
making  a  mass  of  ridiculous  confusion  that  gave  it  the 
title  of  "the  drunken  editorial."  As  it  was  printed 
while  Raymond  was  in  Europe,  and  after  he  had  fig- 
ured prominently  as  an  energetic  fugitive  at  Solferino, 
the  Herald  and  other  papers  charged  its  authorship 
upon  him.  He  never  knew  anything  about  it  until  he 
came  home ;  and  then  learned  the  entire  history  of  the 
article,  which  is  as  follows  : 

One  of  the  staff,  a  clever  but  erratic  fellow,  now  on 
the  Worlds  was  in  the  habit  of  dining  out,  and  drink- 
ing so  freely  at  times  that  when  he  came  to  the  office 
at  a  late  hour  his  MS.  was  very  uncertain.  Conse- 
quently the  foreman  had  orders  to  look  closely  at  Mr. 

's  copy,  and  see  if  it  were  safe.     If  not,  to  leave 

it  out.  On  the  eventful  night  the  eccentric  personage 
came  in,  flushed  with  wine,  but  sat  down  and  wrote  a 
few  "takes"  very  clearly  and  intelligibly.  The  regu- 
lar foreman  examined  the  first  part,  pronounced  it  "all 
right,"  told  his  foreman  to"  follow  copy,  and  went 
home. 

The  heat  of  the  room  very  soon  acted  upon  the 


234  The  Great  Metropolis. 

journalist,  who  mixed  up  his  rhetoric  alarmingly.  The 
assistant  obeyed  orders  literally,  no  doubt  relishing  the 
heterogeneous  editorial,  through  that  passion  for  wag- 
gery so  characteristic  of  printers.  In  the  morning  the 
article  appeared,  a  very  rhapsody  of  nonsense,  to  the 
great  amusement  of  the  readers  and  the  horror  of  the 
editors. 

Raymond  is  small  in  stature  and  slight,  has  dark  hair, 
gray  or  light  hazel  eyes,  a  thin,  nervous  face,  with  dark 
side-whiskers,  and  is  quick  and  energetic  in  movement. 
He  dresses  neatly,  but  not  extravagantly;  has  pleasant 
manners;  talks  fluently  and  rapidly,  and  has  quite  the 
appearance  of  a  busy  man  of  the  world.  He  would 
be  thought  a  merchant,  by  strangers,  or,  perhaps,  a 
stock-broker,  rather  than  a  literary  man  or  a  journalist. 

He  was  married  while  quite  young ;  has  five  or  six 
children,  the  eldest  a  son  in  his  eighteenth  year.  He 
has  made  journalism  profitable ;  his  income  being  pro- 
bably $20,000  to  $25,000.  He  lives  very  comfortably, 
having  a  house  in  town  and  one  in  the  country.  His 
wife  spends  much  of  the  time  in  Europe,  and  he  him- 
self has  made  four  or  five  tours  of  the  Continent.  He 
is  the  author  of  several  books  that  have  had  a  large 
sale,  and  will  probably  write  a  dozen  before  he  has 
surrendered  active  duties. 

Raymond  is  very  sociable;  likes  company  exceed- 
ingly, and  when  he  has  nothing  to  do,  which  is  seldom, 
enjoys  conversation  and  story-telling  as  well  as  any 
journalist  in  New- York.  He  has  a  great  fund  of  an- 
ecdotes, knows  exactly  where  the  point  of  a  story  lies 
and  when  it  is  reached.  He  is  fond  of  theatrical  en- 
tertainments; has  a  keen  relish  of  the  good  things  of 
life ;  is  in  no  sense  an  ascetic  or  a  puritan,  but  much 


Henry  J.  Raymond.  235 

of  a  practical  optimist,  who  thinks  the  World  was  made 
for  our  enjoyment,  and  that  work  is  necessary  to  pleas- 
ure no  less  than  to  health.  He  is  very  well  liked  by 
his  brother  journalists,  and  has  a  large  circle  of  friends. 
.  A  great  deal  has  been  said  of  Raymond's  inconsist- 
ency and  trimming.  He  certainly  varies  his  political 
course  a  good  deal,  but  he  is  sincere  in  his  variations. 
In  conversation  with  a  friend  he  once  spoke  of  his 
ability  to  see  two  sides  of  everything.  "I  always  try," 
he  said,  "when  one  side  is  presented  to  look  at  tlie 
other,  and  in  turning  it  round,  I  am  instinctively  in- 
clined to  favor  the  reverse  of  the  side  I  have  first  ex- 
amined." This  is  the  true  key,  no  doubt,  to  Raymond's 
vagaries,  as  they  are  called.  They  belong  to  his  tem- 
perament, and  are  part  of  himself  as  much  as  the  color 
of  his  eyes  or  the  curve  of  his  spine. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 
THE     BATTERY. 

The  Battery  is  a  kind  of  connecting  line  between 
New- York  past  and  present.  No  other  place  in  the 
Cit^,  probably,  has  so  many  associations,  or  is  so  pro- 
lific of  historic  and  personal  memories.  Yet  no  one 
can  visit  the  extreme  southern  point  of  the  island  of 
Manhattan  without  feeling  something  like  pain  at  the 
departed  glory  of  the  Battery,  the  shorn  beauty  of 
that  once  delightful  look-out  to  the  picturesque  bay 
and  the  ever-suggestive  sea. 

The  Battery  was  laid  out  nearly  a  century  ago,  and 
is  associated  with  many  stirring  scenes  of  the  Revolu- 
tion. The  early  heroes  and  fathers  of  the  country  trod 
its  ground,  when  Washington's  headquarters  were 
within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  spot;  and  there  the 
enemies  of  the  then  unborn  Republic  at  one  time 
pressed  their  victorious  feet.  After  our  independence 
was  secured,  the  Battery  was  converted  into  a  public 
promenade,  and  was,  for  half  a  century,  what  the  Cen- 
tral Park  has  since  become  to  the  Metropolis.  For 
years  there  was  no  other  lounging  or  bathing  place ; 
and  there  the  fashion  and  wealth  of  the  City  disported 
themselves  in  pleasant  weather,  and  drank  in  the  ocean 
breezes  which  swept  our  scanty  commerce  to  and  from 
our  thinly  settled  shores. 


I 


The  Battery.  237 

There  walked,  and  talked,  and  laughed  our  mothers 
and  grandmothers,  and  even  our  great-grandmothers, 
who  had  seen  Washington  review  his  little  army  on 
the  Battery  ;  who  had  waved  their  handkerchiefs  when 
Lafayette  was  received  there ;  who  had  looked  with 
patriotic  and  admiring  eyes  upon  Montgomery  when 
he  lifted  his  hat  to  them,  and  the  salt  sea-breeze  stirred 
his  clustering  hair. 

What  foreigner  of  note  who  has  ever  paid  us  a  visit, 
what  American  of  celebrity,  has  not  walked  on  the 
Battery,  and  watched  the  sails  of  the  receding  ships 
flashing  in  the  distance,  as  the  sunlight  caught  them, 
like  the  wings  of  great  gulls  that  seem  to  live  grace- 
fully upon  the  troubled  deep?  Benjamin  Franklin 
has  reflected  there,  and  observed  the  gathering  tempest 
which  spoke  to  him  in  thunder,  that  was  then  an  un- 
revealed  law  of  science.  Bryant,  in  his  youth,  may 
have  caught  the  idea  of  Thanato^sis  and  the  Hymn  to 
the  North  Star^  while  listening  to  the  wash  of  the 
waves,  and  the  faint  calling  of  the  far-off  sea.  Emer- 
son has  gazed  with  his  calm  eyes  across  the  broad  bay, 
and  gone  home  to  his  quiet  Concord  study,  and  written 
with  the  Atlantic's  murmur  in  his  ear,  and  reproduced 
it  in  his  dreams  of  destiny  and  visions  of  the  future. 

Long  after  the  City  Hall  Park  and  Union  Square 
were  popular  places  of  resort,  the  Battery  kept  its  hold 
upon  the  affections  of  the  citizens  and  strangers ;  and 
to-day,  dismantled  and  deformed  as  it  is  with  unsightly 
objects,  it  is  the  most  pleasant  resort  in  New- York. 
It  is  a  pity  it  has  been  converted  to  common  uses,  and 
permitted  to  run  to  waste ;  for  its  delightful  view  is 
unimpaired ;  the  vessels  and  water-craft  of  every  kind 
come  and   go,   and   the   bay  laughs  with  its   green 


238  The  Great  Metropolis. 

dimples,  as  they  did  when  Bowling  Green,  surrendered 
•completely  now  to  shipping  offices,  was  the  Belgravia 
of  the  town. 

When  Jenny  Lind  came  to  America,  so  adroitly  ad- 
vertised and  bepraised  that  many  of  the  credulous 
believed  her  half  an  angel,  she  filled  Castle  Garden 
with  her  first  notes.  And  when  the  florid  and  self- 
conscious  Jullien  gave  his  initial  monster  concert  in  the 
United  States,  the  crash  of  his  hundred  instruments 
grew  mellow  as  it  fell  from  Castle  Garden  over  the 
waters  that  curled  about  the  walls  of  the  Battery. 

After  that.  Castle  Garden  lost  its  prestige.  Artists 
no  longer  honored  it  with  their  efforts,  and  enthusi- 
astic audiences  no  more  awoke  its  echoes  with  their 
applause. 

New- York  had  retreated  too  far  from  the  Battery, 
which  was  then  made  an  emigrant  depot;  and  now 
only  lovers  of  nature  and  a  few  strangers  wander  in 
its  neglected  walks,  watching  the  ships,  and  listening 
to  the  sea,  as  of  yore,  conscious  that  the  ocean  and 
the  sky  must  be  ever  fresh  and  fair. 

The  Battery  is  the  first  glimpse  seven-eighths  of  the 
emigrants  from  Europe  catch  of  the  New  World ;  and 
they  must  remember  it  always,  therefore,  with  its  bleak 
and  barren  appearance,  looking  bleaker  and  barrener 
to  them  for  their  expectation  of  finding  this  country  a 
perfect  Paradise.  It  is  interesting  to  watch  these 
strangers  as  they  step  for  the  first  time  upon  free  soil, 
and  breathe  for  the  first  time  the  atmosphere  of  the 
model  republic. 

They  must  have  deemed  it  singular,  a  few  years 
ago,  to  behold  on  the  grounds  of  the  Battery,  all  the 
appearance  of  the  oppressed  lands  they  had  left  be- 


The  Battery,  239 

hind — barracks  of  soldiers,  armed  men,  the  movement 
of  artillery.  But  that,  fortunately,  was  only  a  pause 
in  the  giant's  growth,  a  convulsion  of  the  elements 
that  cleared  the  air. 

Every  week  about  a  thousand  Europeans  arrive  at 
the  Battery,  and  are  distributed  throughout  the  won- 
derful country  where  they  have  hoped  to  find  happi- 
ness and  wealth  growing  on  every  tree.  Mostly  Ger- 
mans and  Irish,  who  have  rarely  seen  large  cities,  save 
in  passing  through  on  their  trans- Atlantic  jouiliey, 
they  seem  lost  in  surprise  and  pleasure,  while  they  go 
gaping  and  staring  up  roaring  Broadway,  jostled  and 
bewildered  hj  thousands  of  well-dressed  men,  bent, 
apparently,  on  missions  of  life  and  death.  ' 

Not  strange  that  they  are  confused  when  the  great 
thoroughfare  bursts  upon  them.  It  must  be  a  revela- 
tion, a  sensation,  an  era,  the  realization  of  some  fan- 
tastic dream  ;  and  as  they  stand  at  the  corners,  or  are 
shouted  at  by  hackmen  and  truckmen,  no  doubt  they 
are  endeavoring  to  determine  to  their  own  satisfaction 
if  they  are  really  awake. 

We  Americans,  all  more  or  less  cosmopolitan,  can 
hardly  comprehend  how  great  and  sudden  must  be  the 
change  to  the  poor,  oppressed  Irishman,  or  patient, 
plodding  German,  who  has  lived  all  his  life  so  hard 
and  narrowly  that  comfort  and  liberty,  as  we  under- 
stand them,  are  almost  unknown.  To  take  us  out  of 
our  sleep,  and  drop  us  down  in  Jeddo,  or  Canton,  or 
Damascus,  or  Alexandria,  would  be  little  compared  to 
the  removal  of  a  half-intelligent  foreigner  from  a  rural 
village  of  the  continent  to  the  heart  of  New- York. 

When  the  emigrants  first  set  foot  on  the  Battery 
they  are  compelled  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  sharpers  and 


240  The  Great  Metropolis. 

rogues,  generally  foreigners  like  themselves,  whom  too 
much  and  too  sudden  liberty  has  demoralized  beyond 
hope  of  reformation.  The  graceless  scamps  lie  in  wait 
like  beasts  of  prey  for  the  unsuspecting  and  ignorant 
strangers,  and,  whenever  the  police  do  not  prevent, 
pounce  upon  and  plunder  them  recklessly  of  their 
slender  savings.  The  knaves  assume  to  be  officers  of 
the  Government;  charge  them  a  sum  for  their  initia- 
tion to  the  country ;  a  price  for  the  ir  luggage,  and 
then  steal  it;  carry  them  off  to  wretched  boarding- 
houses,  where  they  are  robbed  again,  and  beaten  if 
they  protest ;  play  all  manner  of  dishonest  tricks  upon 
them,  until  they  often  pray  in  their  hearts,  I  suspect, 
that  they  were  comfortably  back  in  their  humble 
homes. 

Poor  creatures !  it  is  the  fiery  ordeal  they  are  com- 
pelled to  pass.  But  they  soon  find  those  willing  and 
glad  to  deliver  them  from  the  knaves  into  whose  hands 
they  have  fallen ;  and  from  that  hour  the  star  of  fortune 
rises  above  their  new  horizon. 

How  many  times  I  have  watched  the  groups  of 
emigrants  wandering  about  the  Battery,  and  fancied 
their  ideas  and  feelings  in  the  new  land  to  which  they 
have  come. 

Men,  women  and  children,  how  oddly  they '  look ; 
but  not  half  so  oddly  as  we  to  them,  I  suspect. 

An  intelligent  foreigner  once  told  me  the  first  im- 
pression he  received  of  the  country  was,  that  every 
man  here  wore  a  clean  shirt ;  which  was  only  another 
way  of  speaking  of  the  neatness,  and  wholesomeness, 
and  prosperity  of  the  people  at  large.  I  presume  the 
extensive  scale  upon  which  everything  is  done  by,  and 
the  apparent  comfort  and  wealth  of,  the  Americans, 


The  Battery.  241 

must  be  the  first  idea  that  the  emigrants  receive,  par- 
ticularly when  they  pass  up  the  main  aisles  of  the 
City.  If  they  were  to  walk  through  the  Fourth,  or 
Sixth,  or  Tenth  wards, — many  parts  of  them,  at  least, — 
they  would  suppose  they  had  not  improved  their  pros- 
pects by  crossing  the  ocean.  For  there  the  squalor, 
and  poverty  to  which  they  have  been  accustomed,  if 
they  have  lived  in  European  cities,  must  strike  them  as 
familiar  sights. 

The  different  nationalities  represent  their  diffelrent 
traits  of  character  on  their  arrival.  The  Irish  are  ex- 
cited, sanguine,  merry  and  belligerent  on  the  smallest 
provocation ;  indeed,  the  atmosphere  of  the  Republic 
seems  to  generate  bellicose  qualities.  Our  Hibernian 
brothers  are  the  only  people  under  the  sun  who  fight 
for  the  pure  love  of  the  thing,  and  who  seem  to  like  a 
man  the  better  after  a  few  knock-downs,  either  given  or 
received. 

The  German  is  staid,  quiet,  sober,  when  he  lands, 
and  remains  so  to  the  end.  He  is  fond  of  company, 
capable  of  great  self-enjoyment ;  but  he  is  moderate 
in  his  pleasures,  and  thrifty  to  the  last  degree.  He 
does  not  make  much  money,  but  he  rarely  spends  it, 
and  grows  wealthy  after  a  while  by  a  rigid  economy. 

The  Scotch  are  somewhat  like  the  discreet  Teutons, 
with  more  tact  and  perspicacity.  They  prosper  mate- 
rially if  any  avenue  be  opened.  If  there  be  not,  they 
probably  open  one  themselves.  They  are  canny  as 
the  proverb  makes  them, — resembling  the  Germans  in 
their  fondness  for  companionship  and  social  pleasures. 

The  French  are  still  French.      They  adhere  to  each 

other,  and  sigh  for  Paris.     When  they  can,  they  return 

to   France,  and  wonder  what  is  the  use  of  any  other 

place  but  its  gay  capital.. 
16> 


242 


The  Great  Metropolis. 


The  Italians  run  to  plaster  casts,  and  organs,  and 
monkeys  and  fruit,  for  the  most  part, — congregating 
in  the  same  quarter,  and  dragging  Italy  across  the  sea 
as  best  they  may. 

Yet  America  affects  them  all  insensibly;  enlarges 
them;  deepens  them;  elevates  them.  They  rarely — I 
never  heard  of  a  single  instance — regret  the  day  they 
come,  or  the  hour  they  arrive  here,  and  they  usually 
remember  the  Battery  with  a  tender  affection. 


?c^^ 


eg  m^l,3^m 


THE  BATTERY  IN  1861. 


CHAPTER    XYI. 
THE     GAMBLING-HOUSES. 

The  instinct  to  gamble  is  strong  in  humanity.  It 
needs  development  only,  in  the  shape  of  circumstance, 
to  convert  hermits  into  hazarders,  and  gownsmen  into 
gamesters. 

Every  man  is  conscious  of  this,  and  avoids  the  op- 
portunity and  its  temptations.  However,  they  find 
him  often  when  he  avoids  them  too  sedulously,  and  he 
yields,  as  women  yield  when  passion  masters  their 
hearts. 

Such  gambling  is  gambling  in  the  restricted  and 
proscribed  sense — the  hazarding  of  money  against 
cards  or  dice.  With  a  larger  and  truer  meaning,  all 
men  are  gamblers.  All  life  is  a  great  game.  Power, 
love,  wealth,  reputation,  are  the  stakes  we  play  for, 
and  Death  wins  all. 

Trade  and  business  of  every  species  are  gambling 
under  another  name.  The  successful  merchant  and 
banker  are  esteemed  and  honored  in  life,  and  epitaphs, 
false  or  fulsome,  written  over  their  graves.  They  who 
deal  with  paste-board  and  ivory  are  christened  "black- 
legs," and  "virtuous  society"  places  them  beyond  its 
pale.  The  Wall  street  gambler  is  crowned  with  lau- 
rels, and  the  no  more  dishonest  gamester  of  Houston 
street  with  the  cypress  of  reputation.     One  wears  the 


244  The  Great  Metropolis. 

Brahmin's  sacred  robes ;  the  other  the  Pariah's  garb ; 
and  yet  their  spiritual  caste  is  the  same. 

The  character  of  America  and  Americans  generates 
a  spirit  of  recklessness  and  adventure  which  is  the  pa- 
rent of  gambling.  We  feverish  Anglo-Saxon-Nor- 
mans, or  whatever  we  may  be,  lay  wagers  of  our 
peace,  and  hope,  and  life  itself  against  destiny  and 
death,  and  accept  the  result  with  the  indifference  of 
philosophy  or  the  calmness  of  despair. 

Here  in  New- York,  where  all  life  is  concentrated, 
and  a  year  crowded  into  a  month,  the  prompting  to 
gamble  comes  in  with  the  breeze  from  the  sea.  The 
pulses  of  expectation  and  ambition  rise  and  fall  with 
the  tides  that  wash  this  crowded  strip  of  a  million 
struggling  souls. 

Fifth,  and  Lexington,  and  Madison  avenues  gamble 
as  well  as  Wall,  and  Broad,  and  New  streets.  There 
socially ;  here  financially;  but  all  with  dice  they  fancy 
loaded. 

In  the  Metropolis,  it  is  estimated  there  are  nearly 
2^500  gambling  places,  (as  gambling  is  generally  un- 
derstood,) from  the  gorgeous  saloon,  where  tens  of 
thousands  are  gained  and  lost,  in  single  nights,  to  un- 
healthy and  dingy  cellars,  where  besotted  beggars 
play  for  pennies,  and  are  satisfied  to  win  the  purchase 
of  the  poison  that  maddens,  but  is  slow  to  kill. 

The  "respectable"  and  fashionable  establishments 
are  mostly  in  Broadway,  though  Fifth  Avenue,  and 
Houston,  and  Grand  and  Pine  streets,  and  the  Bowery 
exhibit  the  pugnacious  tiger  with  show  and  pretension 
to  those  inclined  to  war  with  him. 

The  fierce  animal,  never  averse  to  combat,  and 
never  to  be  slain,  roars  all  over  town  ;  seeks  his  vie- 


The  Gambling-Houses.  245 

tim  under  the  shadow  of  churclies,  and  in  the  full 
glitter  of  fashionable  display.  He  lies  in  cosy  and 
luxurious  jumbles  of  satinwood  and  velvet,  and  they 
who  do  not  seek  him  rarely  suspect  his  presence.  Yet 
they  who  search  can  always  find;  and  guides  are  not 
lacking  to  direct  strangers  to  the  favorite  haunts  of 
the  striped  beast.  He  looks  handsome  at  first.  His 
claws  are  sheathed,  and  he  lies  supine  in  drowsy  sym- 
metry, and  rubs  his  yellow  head  in  playful  softness 
against  the  caressing  hand.  But  he  is  treacherous  as 
savage,  and  the  unwary  who  woo  him  most  he  rends 
the  crudest. 

411  the  way  from  the  battery  to  Thirtieth  street, 
gambling  saloons  are  thrust  carefully  out  of  sight  in 
the  upper  stories  of  buildings  of  stone  and  marble, 
which  thousands  pass  every  day  without  dreaming  of 
their  existence.  They  have  no  outward  sign  to  the 
many ;  but  to  men  about  town  they  are  known  at  a 
glance.  They  usually  have  large  gilt  numbers  on 
glass  over  doors  leading  through  small  vestibules  to 
another  door  with  a  bell  handle  at  the  side,  and  a 
faithful  porter  behind.  Any  one  can  step  into  the  first 
door  from  the  crowded  street,  and  no  one  will  know 
where  or  how  he  has  disappeared. 

The  faintest  sound  of  the  bell  brings  a  peering  face 
through  a  lattice,  and  after  a  moment's  scanning,  un- 
less the  visitor  or  visitors  have  something  suspicious 
in  their  seeming,  the  inner  door  opens,  and  a  hall  and 
stairway  lead  to  the  apartment  where  every  man's 
money  is  as  good  as  another's  until  it  is  lost,  and  then 
it  is  a  great  deal  worse. 

If  the  weather  be  cold  or  inclement  without,  the 
new  scene   to  which  you  have  been  introduced  is  a 


246  The  Great  Metropolis. 

pleasant  contrast.  It  gives,  suddenly  or  completely^ 
shelter,  warmth,  and  comfort ;  pervades  the  mind  with 
a  sense  of  ease  and  pleasure,  and  luxury ;  prompts  you 
to  stay  longer  than  you  had  intended 

The  rooms — there  are  usually  two  or  three,  some- 
times more — are  brilliantly  lighted  and  expensively 
furnished.  Curtains  of  satin  and  lace,  sofas  of  velvet 
or  silk,  mirrors  from  ceiling  to  floor,  carpets  of  crim- 
son and  white,  carved  sideboards  sparkling  with  de- 
canters and  goblets,  and  swimming  with  liquors  and 
wines,  tables  spread  with  china  and  silver,  and  dishes 
of  appetizing  odor  are  there. 

You  can  recline  on  lounges,  or  smoke,  or  drink,  or 
read  the  papers  or  magazines,  or  examine  the  pictures 
on  the  walls  as  long  as  you  will  without  expense. 
Everything  is  free  to  habitues  of  the  saloon,  though 
the  proprietors  expect  you  to  show  your  appreciation 
of  their  hospitality  by  a  little  patronage  now  and  then. 
But  they  do  not  ask  you.  In  the  adjoining  room  for- 
tune holds  high  carnival,  and  promises  fairly  to  be 
kind. 

Forget  she  is  feminine,  and  not  to  be  trusted  over- 
much. Go  to  her  boldly,  for  boldness  wins  her  as  it 
does  all  her  sex,  and  see  if  she  repay  you  not  with 
golden  favors. 

That  is  not  counsel.  It  is  the  whisper  of  avarice  in 
the  heart,  the  greed  of  gain,  the  seductive  voice  that 
tells  of  wealth  without  labor,  and  pleasure  without 
pain. 

The  adjoining  room  is  open.  It  is  closed  to  none. 
Enter ;  and,  if  you  do  not  play,  perhaps  the  game 
will  interest  you.  Such  your  thought  and  prompting, 
and  you  go  in. 


The  Gambling-Houses.  247 

This  department  is  more  quiet  than  the  others, 
where  men  were  talking,  and  smoking,  and  laughing. 

The  men  are  young  and  old;  but  all  are  well- 
dressed,  rather  overdressed,  as  they  are  generally  in 
New- York.  They  stand  about  a  cloth-covered  table, 
on  which  cards  are  fastened,  and  put  down  circular 
pieces  of  ivory,  known  as  "chips,"  while  a  hard-faced 
fellow  draws  the  cards  corresponding  to  those  on  the 
cloth  from  a  silver  box,  and  throws  them  to  the  right 
and  left. 

One  pile  is  the  banker's,  the  other  the  better's;  the 
game  being  faro,  of  course.  If  you  have  put  your 
*' chips"  on  the  card  whose  corresponding  one  falls  on 
your  pile,  you  have  won  ;  if  on  the  banker's,  you  have 
lost. 

The  game  is  very  simple  and  seems  fair ;  and  it  is 
the  fairest  of  gambling  games.  Yet  the  advantages  in 
favor  of  the  banker  are  such  that  he  must  always  win 
in  the  long  run.  Faro  banks  are  broken  sometimes. 
But  hundreds  of  betters  must  be  broken  before  one 
bank  can  be.  The  temptation,  even  to  gamblers,  to 
bet  against  the  bank,  is  so  strong  that  they  often  make 
affidavit  before  notaries  and  witnesses  to  abstain  from 
staking  their  money  on  that  side  of  the  table,  as  they 
say,  for  six  months,  or  a  year,  or  a  lifetime  even. 

The  difference  between  the  professional  and  ama- 
teur gambler  is  very  marked.  The  latter  is  anxious, 
pale,  nervous  ;  his  voice  is  unsteady  and  hoarse ;  and 
he  calls  often  for  wine  or  liquor.  His  whole  soul  is  in 
the  game.  His  eye  watches  it  with  a  quivering  glow. 
He  smiles  with  a  sickly  smile  sometimes,  especially 
when  he  loses  largely ;  but  the  counterfeit  would  not 
deceive  a  child. 


248  The  Great  Metropolis. 

The  professionars  face  is  cold  and  fixed  as  marble. 
The  closest  scrutiny  could  not  determine  if  he  was 
winning  or  losing.  With  the  same  stolid  indifference 
he  takes  in  and  pays  out  the  money,  even  if  he  owns 
the  bank.  He  is  often  a  dealer  only,  on  a  regular 
salary ;  but,  whether  dealer  or  banker,  no  one  would 
conjecture  from  his  countenance. 

I  have  seen  bankers  lose  their  last  stake,  and  the 
puff  of  their  cigar  was  as  regular  as  when  they  had 
gained  $20,000  in  half  an  hour. 

A  gambler  at  Baden  Baden  lost  immense  sums  to  a 

dark-browed  Spaniard,  whom  the  superstitious  fancied 

in  league  with  the  Evil  One,  and,  when  he  passed  over 

the  last  rouleau  of  gold,  he  quietly  said,   "The  bank  is 

^  broken,"  stepped  aside,  and  blew  out  his  brains. 

The  patrons  of  the  bank  are,  as  I  have  said,  of  dif- 
ferent ages.  The  beardless  youth,  the  man  in  middle 
life,  the  gray-haired,  wrinkled  man  are  there,  drawn 
by  the  same  fascination.  The  majority  of  those  pres- 
ent are  past  middle  age ;  for  love  of  money  survives 
the  love  of  pleasure. 

No  one  can  enter  a  fashionable  gambling-house  in 
New- York,  unless  he  has  learned  the  World  thorough- 
ly, (the  knowledge  is  not  sweet,  though  it  be  profita- 
ble) without  being  surprised  at  those  he  meets  there, 
without  some  disturbance  of  his  faith. 

That  young  man,  known  to  be  dissipated,  spoiled 
by  the  over-indulgence  of  a  wealthy  but  unprincipled 
father,  you  expected  to  see  at  such  a  place.  It  is  nat- 
ural enough  a  badly -reared  youth,  with  a  bad  example 
before  him,  should  seek  to  gain  the  means  for  a  still 
more  lavish  expenditure.  Any  one  can  read  his  des- 
tiny.    A  few  more  years  of  waste  and  riot;  probably 


The  Gambling-Houses.  249 

a  conventional  marriage,  without  abandonment  of  mis- 
tresses; death  from  delirmm  tremens^ — printed,  in  the 
morning  paper,  congestion  of  the  brain — a  funeral  ser- 
mon in  a  Fifth  avenue  church  extolling  the  virtues  he 
laughed  at  in  life;  a  hearse  and  mourning  carriages 
trailing  to  Greenwood;  a  comely  widow  and  few 
tears. 

But  that  sleek,  venerable-looking  man  you  did  not 
think  to  encounter.  You  say  you  have  seen  him  with 
g(^ld-clasped  hymn-book,  bending  low  and  repeating 
audibly  at  Trinity.  No  doubt.  That  was  Sunday. 
This  is  Thursday;  and  the  best  of  fashionable  Church 
members  may  be  wicked  one  day  of  the  week. 

Flushed  and  pale  by  turns  is  the  person  opposite. 
He  has  been  there  regularly  for  three  months  past; 
and  he  has  lost  of  late  thousands  of  dollars,  though 
fortune  favored  him  at  first.  His  salary  is  but  $1,500 
in  the  Petroleum  bank.  He  is  assistant  teller,  and  he 
makes  his  account  good  with  memorandum-checks  that 
never  can  be  paid.  Possibly  he  will  pay  the  debt  by 
paying  the  one  he  owes  to  nature.  Desperation  is 
upon  him,  and  discovery  imminent ;  but  the  Hudson  is 
deep,  and  flows  not  far  away. 

The  silence  is  impressive  about  the  table,  save  when 
a  short  quick  oath  is  breathed  by  a  loser,  or  the  voice 
of  laughter  comes  from  the  supper-room,  where  the 
jingling  of  glasses  is  heard.  Men  come  and  go,  and 
until  long  after  midnight  the  game  continues — betting 
often  growing  heavier  with  the  advancing  hours. 
Those  entering  ..are  usually  hot  with  drink,  and  bet 
carelessly  and  blindly,  and  are  lucky  not  seldom. 
Those  departing  look  wan  and  wretched,  for  they  have 
lost  everything.     They  dash  down  a  glass  of  liquor,  as 


250  The  Great  Metropolis. 

they  go  out,  to  drown  memory,  and  Broadway  greets 
them  as  before;  but  all  is  changed. 

Hundreds  of  these  faro  banks,  splendid,  fascinating 
dangerous,  are  in  every  fashionable  and  frequented 
quarter,  particularly  near  the  hotels  and  theatres.  They 
have  regular  attaches,  who  are  either  salaried  or  receive 
a  certain  per  centage  for  the  strangers  they  induce  to 
enter  the  gilded  hells.  Those  decoys  are  very  ener- 
getic and  persevering.  They  frequent  the  hotels,  res- 
taurants, bar-rooms  and  places  of  amusement;  ma^e 
acquaintances  by  pretending  to  have  met  the  strangers 
somewhere  before ;  inviting  them  to  drink,  to  take  a 
walk,  to  step  in  and  see  a  friend,  and  all  the  well- 
known  rest. 

Strange,  men  can  be  so  easily  duped.  But  they  can. 
The  oldest  tricks  seem  to  become  new  every  day. 
The  pretending-to-be  world-wise  walk  into  open  pit- 
falls with  open  eyes.  Many  of  the  gambling-saloons 
are  conducted  as  honestly  as  such  places  can  be.  But 
more  are  mere  pretexts  for  plunder.  Strangers  are 
drugged,  and,  when  consciousness  returns,  they  have 
been  robbed.  At  many,  professional*  bullies  manufac- 
ture quarrels,  and  steal  under  appearance  of  fighting. 

In  the  First,  Fourth  and  Fifth  wards,  desperate 
characters  are  to  be  found,  with  dirty  cards  and  bloated 
faces,  prepared  for  burglary  and  murder,  but  prefer- 
ring the  easier  task  of  swindling. 

In  the  low  bagnios  of  Greene,  and  Mercer,  and 
Thompson  streets,  cards,  and  dice,  and  ''sweat-cloths" 
can  be  had  for  less  than  the  asking. 

In  the  William  street  and  Bowery  concert  saloons, 
monte,  and  vingt-un,  and  roulette,  and  rouge-et-noir, 
and,  of  recent  months,  coulo  and  keno,  have  been  play- 
ed, and  are  still. 


The  Gambling-Houses.  251 

Sailors'  boarding-houses  in  Water,  and  Pearl,  and 
West  streets,  employ  runners  to  seize  mariners,  who 
are  robbed  and  beaten,  and  have  no  redress. 

All  over  the  island,  gambling  goes  on.  But  the 
most  dangerous  places  are  the  fashionable  saloons  in 
Broadway  and  in  the  vicinity  of  Union  and  Madison 
squares.  Where  champagne  sparkles,  and  gamblers 
are  elegantly  dressed  and  have  good  manners,  the  first 
temptation  is  offered,  and  the  first  steps  downward  are 
covered  with  velvet,  so  soft  that  the  falling  footstep 
awakes  not  the  most  timid  fear. 

The  proprietors  of  the  fashionable  gambling-saloons 
in  New- York  live  like  princes,  but  usually  spend  as 
they  go.  They  have  incomes  reckoned  by  tens  of 
thousands ;  but  their  mistresses,  and  horses,  and  luxu- 
rious establishments,  and  hazards  leave  them  but  little 
at  the  close  of  the  year.  Some  of  them  are  men  of 
education  and  family ;  but  generally  they  are  of  vulgar 
origin,  and  have  learned  those  characteristics  of  gen- 
tlemen— coolness  and  self-possession — only  as  a  neces- 
sary accompaniment  of  their  perfidious  calling.  They 
appear  well  often.  But,  taken  beyond  their  depth, 
they  betray  the  coarseness  of  their  nature,  and  the 
meanness  of  their  associations. 


CHAPTER  xxyn. 

HENRY    WARD    BEECHER. 

If  the  country  contains  any  man  in  or  out  of  the 
pulpit  more  popular,  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  term, 
than  Henry  Ward  Beech er,  I  do  not  know  him.  That 
he  is  regarded  more  as  a  man  than  a  clergyman,  is 
shown  by  the  fact  that,  in  speaking  of  him,  the  prefix 
of  "  reverend"  is  rarely  applied  to  his  name.  Indeed, 
there  seems  to  be  something  inappropriate  in  the  title, 
intimately  as  Beecher  has  been  associated  with  the 
clerical  profqssion  all  his  life.  He  is  the  representative 
of  the  liberal  American  mind  rather  than  of  the  Con- 
gregational church ;  of  humanity  rather  than  of  a 
creed :  hence  his  reputation  and  influence. 

Henry  Ward  Beecher  was  born  June  27,  1813,  at 
Litchfield,  Conn.,  graduated  at  Amherst,  Mass.,  in  his 
twenty-first  year ;  studied  theology  under  his  father, 
the  celebrated  Lyman  Beecher,  at  Lane  Seminary,  near 
Cincinnati,  Ohio,  and  in  1837  was  placed  in  charge  of  a 
Presbyterian  church  in  Lawrenceburg,  Ind.  He  re- 
mained there  only  two  years,  having  been  called  to 
Indianapolis,  where  he  continued  until  1847.  His  ser- 
mons were  from  the  beginning  marked  by  freshness, 
boldness  and  originality,  and  attracted  so  much  atten- 
tion that  he  was  induced,  after  spending  ten  years  in 


Henry  Ward  Beecher.  253 

the  West,  to  accept  the  pulpit  of  Pljmouth  Church, 
Brooklyn,  of  which  he  has  ever  since  been  the  pastor. 
Though  he  lives  in  Brooklyn,  he  is  so  identified  with 
New- York  that  he  could  not,  with  fitness,  be  omitted 
from  this  volume. 

The  Beechers  are  unquestionably  a  gifted  family, 
and  some  of  them  have  shown  something  very  like 
genius  and  an  inclination,  if  not  determination,  to  fol- 
low their  own  thoughts  and  express  their  own  judg- 
ment. Common  traits  are  visible  in  Lyman,  the  father, 
and  in  the  children,  Edward,  Henry,  Harriet  and 
Catherine.  They  are  all  strong-minded,  brave-hearted, 
firm-souled ;  and  their  peculiarities  have  reproduced  a 
new  form  of  the  ^  old  epigram,  that  mankind  is  com- 
posed of  the  human  family  and  the  Beechers. 

At  school  Beecher  was  not  remarkable  for  applica- 
tion or  diligence.  He  was  bright,  but,  on  the  whole, 
rather  indolent,  so  fiir  as  routine  studies  were  con- 
cerned. He  was  a  perpetual  reader,  and  exceedingly 
fond  of  Nature.  Often,  when  he  should  have  been 
conning  his  lessons,  he  Avas  wandering  in  the  woods, 
or  lying  beside  streams,  devouring  some  one  of  the 
numerous  volumes  he  was  more  ready  to  borrow  than 
return.  Several  of  his  professors  predicted  he  would 
never  amount  to  anything,  and  others  that  he  would 
come  to  some  bad  end.  They  were  false  prophets,  as 
they  generally  are ;  for  their  knowledge  is  of  books, 
not  of  men.  They  are  prone  to  believe  any  youth 
who  does  not  put  his  soul  into  Greek  hexameters  and 
conic  sections,  and  fails  of  punctuality  at  chapel  ser- 
vice, is  tending  to  irremediable  evil.  Beecher  did 
not,  I  am  glad  to  say,  graduate  with  the  highest  hon- 
ors of  his  class,  as  the  stereotyped  expression  is.      On 


254  The  Great  Metropolis. 

the  contrary,  he  barely  got  through ;  and  if  he  had 
not  gotten  through,  he  would  have  been  little  grieved, 
for  he  always  held  the  deepest  wisdom  to  be  in  com- 
munion with  Man  and  Nature,  through  whom  God  is 
revealed. 

Lyman  Beecher  had,  from  Henry's  childhood,  de- 
signed him  for  the  church.  He  was  not  alarmed  by 
the  eccentricity  of  the  youth,  for  he  had  deep  faith  in 
the  boy's  good  sense,  stability  of  character,  and  dispo- 
sition to  do  right.  He  was  proud  of  him,  too ;  be- 
lieved him  a  genius  because  he  was  a  Beecher,  and 
the  son  of  his  father,  and  preordained,  therefore,  to 
walk  in  the  true  ways  of  the  righteous. 

Henry  Ward  had  no  natural  appetite  for  theology ; 
thought  seriously  of  being  a  sailor,  a  traveler,  a  phy- 
sician, a  public  speaker.  But  his  filial  affection  and 
the  earnest  wishes  of  his  father  determined  his  course, 
and  sent  him  to  Lane  Seminary.  He  showed  there 
many  of  the  eccentricities  of  Amherst.  He  roamed 
over  the  beautiful  hills  about  Cincinnati,  sometimes 
even  on  Sunday;  and  it  is  rumored  that  he  "pro- 
faned "  the  sacred  day  by  reading  poetry  and  novels. 
He  was  heterodox,  too,  in  his  liking  for  feminine  so- 
ciety— girls,  especially  those  of  a  superior  age  (clever 
and  precocious  boys  are  usually  attracted  to  women 
of  twice  their  years)  having  always  interested  him, 
and  drawn  him  even  from  the  books  he  read  with  the 
sweetness  of  conscious  interdiction.  In  spite  of  the 
rather  stiff  and  sombre  character  of  Lane  Seminary, 
Beecher  seems  to  have  had  quite  a  good  time  there, 
and  he  still  preserves  very  happy  memories  of  the 
days  spent  at  Walnut  Hills.  Many  of  the  residents  of 
the   neighborhood   recollect   him  as  a  merry,    light- 


Henry  Ward  Beecher.  255 

hearted  youth,  as  unlike  his  fellow-students,  and  as 
free  from  formality  and  seriousness  as  if  he  had 
dropped  down  at  the  Seminary  from  the  planet  Mer- 
cury or  Yenus. 

There  has  always 'been  something  a  trifle  grotesque, 
to  my.  mind,  in  Beecher's  being  a  Congregational  min- 
ister, not  because  Beecher  is  so  peculiar,  but  because 
he  is  so  unlike  all  other  divines  of  that  church.  For 
more  than  twenty  years  he  has  filled  the  Plymouth 
church  pulpit,  and  has  constantly  advanced  what,  in 
any  other  man,  would  have  been  deemed  the  most 
startling  and  pernicious  heresies.  He  has  escaped 
condemnation  and  expulsion  by  his  honesty  and  au- 
dacity. His  boldness  of  utterance  has  frightened  the 
timid  into  silence,  and  the  thoughtful  into  admiration. 
Every  one  'has  deemed  him  sincere  and  zealous,  and 
has  accepted  his  breadth  and  toleration  as  the  ad- 
vanced conditions  of  a  higher  Christianity. 

Beecher  must  have  startled  his  flock  at  first ;  for  its 
members  were  very  different  when  he  took  charge  of 
their  spiritual  direction  from  what  they  have  sinca 
become  under  his  teachings.  But  he  has  shown  su- 
preme tact  and  admirable  discretion ;  his  fine  instincts 
revealing  to  him  Avhat  he  could  and  what  he  could  not 
say,  and  when  the  opportunity  was  ripe  for  a  theologic 
coup  d^  etat 

I  can  imagine  with  what  an  uncomfortable  feeling 
many  of  his  spiritual  brothers  and  sisters  must  have 
heard  his  first  invitation  to  all  who  believed  in  Jesus 
Christ  to  take  the  sacrament.  They  have  grown  used 
to  him  now.  He  has  educated  them  up  to  a  height 
from  which  they  would  once  have  looked  down  dizzily. 
He  has  led  them  along  unconsciously  until  they  hardly 


256  The  Great  Metropolis. 

know  over  what  an  immense  space  they  have  traveled. 
The  floods  they  feared,  and  the  precipices  they  dreaded, 
were  found  to  be  flowing  by  picturesque  banks,  and 
commanding  beautiful  views,  whose  existence  they 
had  been  unconscious  of. 

I  do  not  wonder  many  people  say  Beecher  does  not 
and  cannot  believe  in  his  creed.  He  is  too  broad  for 
it ;  but  he  does  an  immense  deal  of  good  in  an  ortho- 
dox pulpit  that  he  could  not  do  in  any  other.  He 
knows  that ;  he  is  dimly  conscious  of  a  pious  fraud ; 
but  he  thinks  the  end  justifies  the  means.  He  satisfies 
his  conscience  by  the  conviction  that  he  is  broadening 
all  theology,  and  by  degrees  making  it  and  Christianity 
one  and  the  same  thing. 

They  who  hold  such  opinions  are  mistaken.  Beecher 
is  sincere  and  earnest  beyond  question.  He  is  broader 
than  his  church  is  usually  regarded,  but  not  broader 
than  his  interpretation  of  its  dogmas.  He  expounds 
the  truths  of  the  Bible  for  himself  instead  of  being 
bound  by  the  explanations  of  others;  and  no  one 
will  say  Humanity  and  Christianity  are  not  on  his 
side.  He  is  a  natural  man,  in  perfect  health,  and 
therefore  cheerful,  buoyant,  hopeful.  He  does  not 
fancy  himself  pious  because  he  is  bilious,  or  devoted 
because  suffering  from  dyspepsia. 

Beecher  has  been  compared  to  Spurgeon ;  but  one 
suggests  the  other  only  by  contrast.  Beecher  seems  odd, 
for  he  is  what  few  men  in  the  pulpit  are,  an  individual. 
He  is  eccentric  without  affecting  eccentricity,  and  his 
peculiar  oratory  is  so  different  from  the  starched  com- 
mon-places and  narrow  theology  of  some  divines  that  I 
do  not  marvel  it  is  captivating  alike  to  the  ordinary 
and  the  cultivated.     He  does  not  believe  his  office  is 


Hexry  Ward  Beecher.  257 

sacred  unless  he  fills  it  with  living  work  and  vital 
faith  in  humanity ;  and  he  does  not  claim  for  his  posi- 
tion what  he,  the  man,  fails  to  yield  to  it.  Other 
preachers  lose  the  man  in  the  profession.  Beecher 
loses  the  profession  in  the  man ;  and  this,  I  suspect,  is 
more  than  all  else  the  secret  of  his  clerical  success. 

Beecher  was  one  of  the  founders  of  the  Independent^ 
the  most  lucrative  religious  paper  in  the  country.  He 
was  for  years  its  de  facto  editor,  and  contributed  to  it 
a  series  of  fresh,  racy  and  vigorous  articles  signed  with 
an  asterisk,  which  were  flfterwards  published  in  book 
form  under  the  title  of  the  "Star  Papers,"  and  had  a 
wide  sale.  Several  years  since  he  dissolved  his  con- 
nection with  the  Independent  on  account  of  his  numer- 
ous employments,  sacerdotal  and  secular. 

Hardly  any  man  dwelling  in  the  metropolian  dis- 
trict is  more  industrious  than  he.  He  has  an  appe 
tite  for  work  that  is  hardly  appeasable.  However 
much  he  does  he  is  dissatisfied  because  he  does  not  do 
more.  Between  his  sermons  and  church  duties,  his 
correspondence  and  lectures,  his  general  literary  work 
and  his  travels  hither  and  thither,  he  has  little  time 
he  can  call  his  own. 

He  has  written  and  completed  a  number  of  able  and 
eloquent  volumes,  and  is  now  engaged  upon  a  "Life  of 
Jesus,"  which  will  be  his  most  elaborate  and  finished 
work.  He  will  not  complete  it  probably  for  several 
years,  but  when  he  does,  it  will  necessarily  attract 
great  attention,  be  sharply  criticised  and  generally 
read.  The  opinions  of  such  a  man  as  Beecher  on 
Christ  are  worth  hearing,  especially  as  he  has  said  that 
he  can  only  understand  God  through  his  Divine  Son; 
that  Eternal  Goodness,  Justjce  and  Mercy  are  made 


258  The  Great  Metropolis. 

clear  and  certain  througli  the  suffering  and  atonement 
of  the  Savior  of  Mankind. 

"Norwood"  has  done  much  to  popularize  Beecher^s 
mode  of  thought  and  his  views  on  religion.  Though 
not  a  novel  according  to  the  rules  of  art,  it  is  very  in- 
teresting as  a  record  of  the  author's  opinions  and  sym- 
pathies. The  fact  that  he  was  about  to  write  a  novel, 
troubled  a  part  of  his  congregation  at  first ;  but  he 
is  always  troubling  its  most  orthodox  members,  and 
they  soon  reconciled  themselves  to  what  they  have 
come  to  believe  his  inevitable  waywardness.  The  pub- 
lication of  "Norwood"  in  the  Ledger  increased  the 
circulation  one  hundred  thousand,  so  that  Robert  Bon- 
ner could  well  afford  to  pay  $30,000  to  its  author. 

With  the  exception  of  John  B.  Gough,  Beecher  is 
probably  the  most  popular  lecturer  in  the  country. 
He  did  not  lecture  last  season,  nor  will  he  this,  albeit 
he  can  make  $10,000  every  Winter  he  consents  to  ap- 
pear before  lyceums. 

He  took  a  deep  interest  in  politics  after  the  question 
of  slavery  entered  into  them.  In  1856  he  addressed 
mass  meetings  in  favor  of  the  Republican  candidates, 
and  continues  to  be  a  stump  speaker  whenever  he  be- 
lieves he  can  benefit  the  cause.  He  was  untiring  in 
his  efforts  to  strengthen  the  North  during  the  rebellion, 
and  it  is  said,  after  Sumter  was  fired  on,  he  was  with 
difiiculty  prevented  from  taking  up  a  musket  in  defence 
of  the  country.  He  was  only  kept  out  of  the  ranks 
by  his  friends  proving  to  him  logically  that  he  could  be 
of  infinitely  greater  service  in  influencing  public  opin- 
ion with  his  voice  and  pen  than  in  acting  as  a  private 
soldier.  I 

Beecher  has  a  good  income,  much  of  which  he  is 


I 


Henry  Ward  Beecher.  259 

reputed  to  expend  in  charity.  Last  year  he  returned 
about  $40,000,  the  greater  part  of  which  was,  no  doubt, 
from  "Norwood."  His  salary  as  pastor  of  Plymouth 
Church  is  $10,000  or  $12,000,  and  he  earns  quite  as 
much  in  other  ways.  He  has  an  amiable  and  devoted 
wife  and  several  children,  one  of  whom,  his  eldest  son, 
served  as  a  captain  of  artillery  during  the  War,  and 
another  who  is  now  entering  Yale  college.  He  has  a 
very  pleasant  and  comfortable  home  in  Brooklyn,  full 
of  pictures,  books,  Scripture  mottoes  and  sunshine. 
Everyone  knows  how  he  looks ;  that  his  face  is  quite 
as  physical  as  spiritual ;  that  he  is  always  in  robust 
health,  and  that  in  his  fifty-fifth  year  he  appears  like  a 
great,  fresh-hearted  boy  released  from  the  school  of 
tradition  for  a  Summer  holiday  of  good-fellowship  and 
common  sense. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
THE     RESTAURANTS. 

To  A  STRANGER,  New-York  Hiust  seem  to  be  perpetu- 
ally engaged  in  eating.  Go  where  you  will  between 
the  hours  of  8  in  the  morning  and  6  in  the  evening, 
and  you  are  reminded  that  man  is  a  cooking  animal. 
Tables  are  always  spread ;  knives  and  forks  are  always 
rattling  against  dishes;  the  odors  of  the  kitchen  are' 
always  risings  Is  the  appetite  of  the  Metropolis  ever 
appeased?  you  think.  Whence  come  all  the  people 
to  devour  all  the  food  that  is  displayed  in  every  shop 
between  Whitehall  slip  and  Central  Park. 

In  West  and  Water  streets,  as  well  as  in  Broadway 
and  Fourteenth,  the  appetite  is  tempted,  though  in 
more  or  less  delicate  ways.  The  whole  island  appears 
covered  with  oysters  and  clams,  and  the  destiny  of  its 
inhabitants  to  eat  is  clear.  We  are  forced  to  believe 
no  one  can  be  hungry  in  New- York,  which  seems  to 
contain  food  enough  to  supply  the  entire  nation.  This 
must  impress  the  emigrant  as  the  land  of  plenty,  the 
great  store-house  of  the  World.  And  yet  hundreds 
daily  pass  the  richly-furnished  restaurants  and  heaps 
of  prepared  provisions,  without  the  means  of  gratify- 
ing their  hunger. 

One  advantage  of  New- York  is  that  a  man  can  live 
here  very  much  as  he  chooses.     He  can  live  fashiona- 


The  Restaurants.  261 

blj  and  luxuriously  for  from  one  to  five  hundred  dol- 
lars, or  meanly  and  poorly  for  six  to  eight  dollars  a 
week.  The  latter  method  very  few  Americans  adopt 
unless  compelled  by  absolute  necessity;  and  not  then 
very  long,  for  laudanum  is  not  dear,  and  the  rivers 
are  very  deep. 

The  City  contains  five  or  six  thousand  restaurants 
and  eating-houses  of  different  kinds.  Nearly  all  of 
them  do  a  successful  business,  and  many  make  their 
proprietors  rich  in  a  very  few  years.  They  vary  as 
greatly  in  their  appearance  and  prices  as  in  the  char- 
acter of  their  patrons.  They  range  from  the  elegance 
and  costliness  of  Delmonico's  and  Taylor's  to  the  sub- 
terranean sties  where  men  are  fed  like  swine,  and  dirt 
is  served  gratis  in  unhomceopathic  doses.  There,  are 
silver,  and  porcelain,  and  crystal,  and  fine  linen,  and 
dainty  service.  Here,  are  broken  earthen-ware, 
soiled  table-cloths,  and  coarse  dishes.  In  Fourteenth 
street,  you  pay  for  a  single  meal  what  would  keep 
you  for  a  week  below  Chambers  street,  and  give  you 
dyspepsia  withal  unless  you  have  the  stomach  of  an 
ostrich. 

One  wonders  how  even  this  great  City  can  support 
so  many  eating-houses.  It  could  not  but  for  the  great 
distance  between  the  business  and  residence  quarters, 
and  the  consequent  necessity  of  the  commercial  classes 
dining  or  lunching  down  town.  Nearly  three-quarters 
of  the  restaurants  below  Canal  street  owe  their  support 
to  that  fact;  for  as  soon  as  the  mercantile  tide  sets 
northward,  their  trade  is  over  for  the  day. 

Nowhere  else  in  this  country  do  men  live  so  largely 
at  restaurants  as  in  New- York.  Nowhere  else  are 
lodging  and  eating  so  completely  and  .strictly  divided. 


262  The  Great  Metropolis. 

Probably  150,000  of  our  population  rent  rooms  up 
town,  and  get  their  meals  down  town.  They  adopt 
that  mode  of  existence  because  they  are  not  able  to 
live  at  hotels,  and  they  are  unwilling  to  put  up  with 
what  is  termed,  by  an  ingenious  figure  of  speech, 
boarding-house  accommodations. 

Eating  is  done  in  the  Metropolis  with  the  haste  of 
Americans  intensified.  From  12  o'clock  to  3  of  the 
afternoon,  the  down-town  eating-houses  are  in  one  con- 
tinuous roar.  The  clatter  of  plates  and  knives,  the 
slamming  of  doors,  the  talking  and  giving  of  orders 
by  the  customers,  the  bellowing  of  waiters,  are  min- 
gled in  a  wild  chaos.  The  sole  wonder  is  how  any 
one  gets  anything;  how  the  waiters  understand  any- 
thing; how  anything  is  paid  for,  or  expected  to  be 
paid  for.  Everybody  talks  at  once ;  everybody  orders 
at  once ;  everybody  eats  at  once ;  and  everybody  seems 
anxious  to  pay  at  once. 

The  waiters  must  be  endowed  with  extraordinary, 
and  the  cooks  with  miraculous,  power  of  hearing.  How 
could  any  one  expect  them  to  comprehend,  ^'Ham- 
eggs-for-two-oyster-stew-coff  and-ap-pie-for-three-pork- 
beans-ale-cigars-for-four-beef-steak-onions-porter-cigar- 
for-five-mut-'n-chop-mince  -  pie  -  black  -  tea  -  for  -  one,"  all 
pronounced  in  one  word,  in  various  keys  and  tones, 
with  the  peculiar  recitative  of  eating-houses  ? 

It  is  a  curious  sight  to  witness  the  skirmishing,  as  it 
is  termed,  in  Park  row,  Nassau  or  Fulton  streets,  about 
the  hours  named. 

A  long  counter  is  crowded  with  men,  either  stand- 
ing elbow  to  elbow,  or  perched  on  stools,  using  knives, 
and  forks,  and  spoons ;  talking  with  their  mouths  full ; 
gesticulating  with  their  heads,  and  arms,  and  bodies; 


I 


The  Restaurants.  263 

eating  as  if  they  were  on  the  eve  of  a  journey  round 
the  World,  and  never  expected  to  obtain  another  meal 
this  side  bf  the  antipodes.  The  hungry  are  constantly 
satiated, — constantly  going;  but  others,  as  hungry,  as 
feverish,  as  garrulous,  as  energetic  as  they,  are  always 
coming  to  supply  their  places,  and  continue  the  chaos 
of  confusion  as  before. 

If  misery  makes  strange  bed-fellows,  restaurants  in 
New-York  create  singular  companions.  Men  meet 
there  who  never  meet  anywhere  else.  Faces  become 
familiar  at  a  table  that  are  never  thought  of  at  any 
other  time.  You  know  the  face,  as  that  of  your 
brother,  or  father,  or  partner ;  but,  when  it  turns  away 
into  the  crowd,  you  never  suspect,  or  care,  or  conjec- 
ture where  it  goes,  or  to  whom  it  belongs.. 

I  heard  an  old  habitue  of  restaurants  say  the  other 
day,  ''  There's  a  man  I've  been  seeing  for  twenty  years 
at  Crook's.  Yet  who  he  is,  or  what  he  does,  or  how 
he  lives,  I  have  not  the  remotest  idea.  I  wonder  who 
the  devil  the  old  fellow  is?  But  I  suppose  he  h9>s  the 
same  curiosity  about  me." 

It  is  interesting  to  enter  the  restaurants  now  and 
then,  and  observe  the  faces,  the  manners,  the  general 
bearing  of  the  frequenters.  How  full  they  are  of  op- 
posites  and  variations!  They  are  very  different  from 
what  I  often  take  or  mistake  them. 

I  remember  thinking  that  that  milk-faced,  pale- eyed 
man,  in  such  plain  and  well-worn  attire,  with  such  a 
humble  air,  was  a  poor  clergyman  who  was  probably 
compelled  to  work  for  a  pittance  during  the  week  for 
one  of  the  religious  journals,  and  was  firm  in  this  idea 
until,  coming  down-town  one  evening,  I  observed  my 
old  friend  in  the  hands  of  the  police,  who  were  drag- 


264  The  Great  Metropolis. 

giiig  him  to  the  Tombs.  He  was  one  of  the  most  despe- 
rate burglars  in  the  City,,  and  had  for  years  escaped 
detection.  The  day  after  his  commitment  he  was  found 
in  his  cell,  hanging  by  the  neck,  one  of  his  suspenders 
about  his  neck,  stone  dead, — glaring  defiance  out  of 
his  glazed  eyes  at  defeated  justice. 

There  was  the  hard-visaged,  cruel-chinned  person, 
who  ate  like  a  cormorant.  A  sinister  expression  was 
in  his  eye,  which  would  not  meet  yours,  strive  as  you 
might  to  catch  it.  I  was  convinced  he  was  a  scoundrel 
— a  sneak-thief,  perhaps ;  that  he  beat  his  children  un- 
mercifully, and  ruled  his  poor,  frightened  wife  with  a 
rod  of  iron.  He  subsequently  proved  to  be  a  Wil- 
liamsburg clergyman,  and  was  esteemed  a  saint  by  his 
congregation. 

The  slovenly,  abstracted,  care-worn  looking  mortal 
whom  I  fancied  a  carman  or  a  porter,  and  whom  I  was 
often  tempted  to  give  a  dollar  to,  so  woe-begone  and 
overworked  did  he  seem,  revealed  himself  to  me  as 
one  of  the  richest  men  in  New- York.  His  daily  in- 
come was  more  than  all  I  was  worth,  including  my 
lands  along  the  Guadalquivir  and  my  castles  in  the 
Pyrenees. 

Strange,  all  this.  Is  physiognomy  at  fault ;  or  is  it 
truer  than  we  think  ? 

Seated  on  that  stool  is  the  editor  of  an  ultra  repub- 
lican paper ;  and,  as  he  cuts  his  slice  of  roast  beef, 
his  elbow  touches  the  arm  of  the  democratic  high- 
priest,  who  claims  to  dictate  the  course  of  the  party 
in  New-York.  They  have  abused  each  other  for  years 
in  print ;  and  now  they  nod  to  each  other,  and  drink 
a  glass  of  ale  together,  and  separate,  each  to  tell  his 
readers  how  unprincipled  the  other  is. 


The  Restaurants.  265 

Opposite  one  another  at  the  small  table,  are  two  lit- 
erary men  whose  names  are  familiar  as  household 
words  all  the  country  over.  They  recognize  each 
other's  faces,  but  neither  has  the  most  latent  suspicion 
that  his  neighbor  is  the  famous  poet,  or  the  author  of 
half  a  dozen  of  the  best  known  books  in  America. 

That  handsome,  carefully  dressed  man  of  fashion 
lights  his  cigar  by  the  cigar  of  the  pensive  artist. 
They  have  not  met  before,  and  yet  their  warm  friend- 
ship for  the  same  metropolitan  beauty  who  has  just 
come  back  from  Paris,  ought  at  least  to  make  them 
acquainted.  At  the  door  they  pass  her  husband,  and 
the  artist  is  unconscious  who  he  is.  But  the  other 
grasps  his  hand,  and  presses  it  as  if  the  husband  were 
very  near  his  heart.  Do  men  ever  really  like  the  hus- 
bands of  the  wives  they  love  ? 

When  evening  comes  and  the  business  of  the  day 
is  ended,  the  down-town  restaurants  are  closed,  and 
those  up-town  have  their  active  season.  Then  Curet's, 
and  the  Caf^  de  I'Universite,  and  Taylor's,  and  Del- 
monico's  thrive,  particularly  toward  midnight,  after 
the  theatres  and  the  concerts  and  the  operas  are  over. 

The  up-town  restaurants  furnish  quite  a  contrast  to 
those  in  the  lower  quarter  of  the  City.  They  have  no 
confusion,  no  bustle,  no  jostling,  no  door-slamming. 
Ladies  elegantly  and  elaborately  dressed  go  with  their 
escorts  to  upper  Broadway  and  Fourteenth  street;  go 
in  handsome  equipages^  amid  flower  and  toilette  odors, 
and  with  all  the  suggestive  poetry  that  night  lends  to 
a  fine  woman,  intoxicated  with  her  own  sweetness,  and 
the  consciousness  that  she  is  lovable  to  every  sense. 

Late  suppers,  and  rich  wines,  and  low  voices,  and 
delicious  flattery  are  dangerous,  dear  madam,  even  if 


26 G  The  Great  Metropolis. 

you  think  it  not.  And  he  who  is  so  gallant  and  so 
refined,  so  tender  and  so  generous — such  a  contrast  to 
him  you  vowed  to  love  when  your  heart  revoked  the 
vow — may  be  more  to  you  than  you  dream. 

It  is  hard  for  a  man  to  be  a  married  woman's  friend, 
and  only  that.  Yet  every  woman  declares  he  shall 
never  be  aught  else ;  and,  while  she  declares,  is  de- 
ceived, and  learns  nothing  by  her  deception. 

How  few  of  the  fashionable  wives  that  sup  up  town 
after  the  play  or  the  opera,  sup  with  their  husbands ! 
Their  husbands  may  be  there  ;  but  they  are  with  other 
women.  Etiquette  is  opposed  to  the  consorting  of  the 
married  in  public ;  and  one  might  be  excused  for  be- 
lievuig  the  custom  founded  on  nature,  so  liberally  and 
gladly  is  the  custom  followed. 

It  is  an  old  fashion,  but  good,  nevertheless,  that 
persons  doomed  to  live  together  should  love  each 
other.  Society  has  changed  that,  I  am  aware  ;  but 
society  makes  dreadful  mistakes  sometimes,  and,  for  its 
own  convenience  and  interest,  wrecks  the  happiness 
of  individuals  not  seldom. 

"  Do  not  moralize.  The  World  is  well  enough  as  it 
is.     We  must  take  it  as  we  find  it." 

So  says  my  married  friend  who  smokes  his  cigar 
contentedly  at  home,  while  his  pretty  wife  flirts  at  a 
brilliant  reception,  with  "one  of  the  best  fellows  in 
the  World." 

Well,  I  won't  moralize.  If  he  is  satisfied,  why 
should  I  complain  ? 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 
MANTON     MARBLE. 

Though  Henry  Mackenzie  is  known  in  literature  as 
the  author  of  ''The  Man  of  the  World,"  he  is  not,  so 
far  as  is  ascertained,  a  progenitor  of  Manton  Marble, 
called  here  by  the  same  title. 

Marble  is  the  youngest  of  the  editors-in-chief  of  the 
Metropolis,  and  compared  to  the  rest,  is  rather  a  new 
man.  He  was,  I  believe,  attached  to  the  staff  of  the 
Evening  Post  for  a  number  of  months,  but  first  emerged 
from  his  obscurity  when  the  World  newspaper  was  es- 
tablished, if  my  memory  serve,  in  1860  as  a  one-cent 
religious  paper,  so  painfully  pious  that  it  Fould  not 
publish  theatrical  advertisements. 

Marble  was  born,  I  am  informed,  in  Rhode  Island, 
and  graduated  from  Rochester  University  in  his  nine- 
teenth year.  It  is  presumed  that  he  inherited  little 
more  than  a  good  classical  education,  and  that  he  early 
sought  to  earn  his  own  livelihood.  He  had  at  first 
some  ambition  to  become  a  lawyer,  but  discovered  in 
himself  so  strong  a  bias  for  writing  that  after  contrib- 
uting for  a  while  to  the  Providence  papers,  he  con- 
cluded, though  unheralded  and  unknown,  to  remove 
to  the  metropolis  of  New  England  and  seek  his  for- 
tune there.  He  had  written  enough  to  awake  the  ad- 
miration of  his  youthful  friends  and  to  gain  confidence 
in  himself     Long  before  he  quitted  college  he  was 


268  The  Great  Metropolis. 

accounted  unusually  clever  witli  his  pen,  and  is  said 
to  have  written  the  theses  of  his  less  capable  fellow- 
students,  and  to  have  shown  as  much  variety  as  ac- 
tivity in  compositions  of  his  own. 

Arrived  in  Boston,  where  the  citizens  are  so  much 
engrossed  with  Greek  and  Latin  that  they  rarely  have 
leisure  to  study  English,  Marble  went  into  the  office 
of  the  Traveller  and  asked  for  an  engagement. 

*'What  can  you  do?"  inquired  the  editor. 

"Almost  anything." 

"Have  n't  you  any  specialty?" 

"  No.     I'll  try  my  hand  at  any  kind  of  writing." 

"Have  you  brought  letters  of  recommendation?" 

"No.  I  think  a  man's  work  is  his  best  recommen- 
dation. All  I  want  is  a  chance.  I  have  determined 
to  adopt  journalism  as  a  profession,  and  I  have  con- 
cluded to  begin  here." 

"You  are  confident,  at  least,  my  young  friend;  and 
I  like  your  manner  and  directness.  Have  you  ever 
tried  dramatic  criticism?" 

"I  shall  try  it  when  you  have  assigned  me  to  some 
duty.     I  feel  quite  at  home  in  theatricals." 

"Yery  well.  Forrest  plays  'Lear'  at  the  Boston 
Theater  this  evening.  Go  there,  and  let  us  see  what 
you  can  do." 

Marble  attended  the  performance,  and  wrote  at  the 
close  two  columns  of  very  able  and  exhaustive  criticism 
upon  the  play,  its  historic  character  and  its  representa- 
tion by  the  American  tragedian."  For  so  young  and 
inexperienced  a  writer  the  critique  was  remarkable, 
delighted  the  editor,  and  pleased  the  City  of  Notions. 
Marble  was  engaged  the  next  evening  upon  the  regular 
staff,  and  continued  *    the  office  for  two  years.     He 


Manton  Marble.  269 

subsequently  connected  himself  with  other  papers  at 
the  "  Hub ;"  but  finally  out-growing  Bunker  Hill  and 
Boston  Common,  he  came  to  Broadway  and  the  Central 
Park. 

He  went  upon  the  World  as  a  general  writer  at  a 
salary,  I  have  been  told,  of  $30  a  week,  and  rapidly 
rose  in  the  establishment  until  he  was  made  editor-in- 
chief  The  paper  changed  hands,  character  and  poli- 
tics, was  revolutionized  half  a  dozen  times ;  from  re- 
ligious became  secular  and  then  political ;  was  mildly 
Conservative ;  grew  Republican ;  waxed  Democratic — 
feebly  at  first,  ferociously  at  last ;  and  amid  all  those 
changes  Marble  held  on,  and  developed  with  them 
into  the  latest  form  and  freshest  shape. 

What  his  politics  were  originally,  no  one  seems  to 
know.  It  is  said  that  at  college  he  cherished  few  con- 
victions, but  left  his  mind  free  to  embrace  what  at  any 
time  appeared  best.  The  Republicans  declare  he  is, 
or  ought  to  be,  with  them ;  but  that  he  has  tempor- 
ized, and  followed  where  his  interests  led.  Such 
statements  are  gratuitous.  It  is  fair  to  presume  that 
Marble  knows,  at  least,  on  what  side  he  wants  to  be, 
and  he  certainly  has  a  right  to  choose  his  party  and 
his  principles  among  the  variety  prevalent  at  the 
present  time. 

If  Marble  is  individually  what  he  is  professionally,  a 
man  of  the  world,  he  is  a  shrewd  and  successful  one ; 
and  it  is  nobody's  affair  what  he  privately  thinks  or  be- 
lieves. He  says  daily  through  his  columns  that  he  is 
an  ultra  Democrat,  and  as  such  the  public  is  bound  to 
accept  him  and  his  paper. 

When  Marble  went  into  the  Woj^ld  he  was  not  sup- 
posed to  possess  anything,  and  he  now  has  a  largo 


270  The  Great  Metropolis. 

interest  in  the  journal  he  controls,  report  making  him 
owner  of  more  than  one-half  of  all  the  shares,  which 
can  hardly  be  worth  less,  for  his  portion,  than  $150,- 
000.  He  has  manifested  tact  and  energy  in  getting 
hold  of  the  stock,  and  lifting  himself  from  a  mere  sala- 
ried subordinate  to  the  chief-editorship.  He  receives 
a  salary  for  his  services  of  $6,000  a  year,  and  his  pres- 
ent income  from  his  shares  ought  to  be  at  least  $10,000 
to  $12,000  more. 

The  financial  history  of  the  World  has  been  varied. 
It  sank  money  with  persevering  liberality  for  several 
years;  $300,000  to  $350,000  having  been  swallowed 
up  in  its  fluctuations  between  theologic  sanctity  and 
pugnacious  partisanship  of  the  most  confirmed  charac- 
ter. The  paper  is  on  a  paying  basis  now,  and  its 
profits  last  year  are  stated  to  have  been  about  $25,000, 
with  a  prospect  of  a  material  increase  during  the  cur- 
rent year. 

Marble,  though  still  young,  is  not  a  hard  worker  in 
the  sense  in  which  Greeley  and  Raymond  are  hard 
workers.  He  manages  and  directs  the  fourth  or  edito- 
rial page  alone,  leaving  the  other  departments  to  the 
care  of  subordinates.  He  writes  most  of  his  editorials, 
not  long  nor  frequent  usually,  in  his  own  library  up 
town,  where  he  lives  very  comfortably,  if  not  luxuriously, 
sending  his  manuscript  to  the  office,  and  receiving 
proofe  at  home.  He  was  married  four  or  five  years 
ago  to  a  lady  of  fortune,  whose  death  he  has  recently 
been  called  upon  to  mourn. 

Marble  is  a  man  of  fine  culture,  being  well  versed 
in  intellectual  philosophy  and  transcendental  meta- 
physics. He  has  read  Hume  and  Hamilton,  Buckle 
and  Mill,  Spencer  and  Comte,   and  has  dallied  with 


Manton  Marble.  271 

Kant  and  Schelling,  Fichte  and  Hegel,  as  mucli  as  an 
active  journalist  conveniently  can  unassisted  by  mental 
cobwebs  and  vats  of  lager  beer.  He  is  about  forty, 
and  though  he  looks  materially  older  than  he  did  at 
the  beginning  of  the  War,  he  would  generally  be  con- 
sidered handsome.  Indeed  he  may  lay  more  claim  to 
personal  comeliness  than  any  New-York  editor  of  promi- 
nence, and  his  manners  and  presence  are  very  good  and 
prepossessing.  He  is  under  the  medium  size,  rather 
too  heavy  for  his  stature,  has  dark  eyes,black  hair  and 
deep  olive  complexion. 

Marble  is,  it  is  said,  a  descendant  of  the  Puritans, 
his  ancestors  having  been  residents  of  New  England 
for  three  generations.  He  is  quite  picturesque  in  ap- 
pearance. If  he  were  attired  in  a  velvet  doublet  with 
slashed  sleeves,  a  conical  ribbon-crossed  hat  put  upon 
his  head,  a  guitar  slung  to  his  back,  a  carbine  placed 
in  his  hand,  and  he  himself  set  down  in  the  midst  of 
the  Roman  campagna,  he  would  be  mistaken  for  an 
Italian  bandit  of  the  romantic  school. 

Marble  is  an  active  politician,  a  prominent  member 
of  the  Manhattan  Club,  and,  for  a  journalist,  a  man 
of  elegant  leisure,  cultivating  the  graces,  more  than 
most  of  his  guild,  and  believing  that  continual  toil 
does  not  include  all  the  virtues,  or  make  compensation 
for  every  sharp  annoyance  and  feverish  trouble  of  ex- 
istence. He  is  something  of  an  epicurean  withal,  and 
wisely  holds  that  while  the  uses  of  labor  are  sweet 
they  need  the  acid  of  repose  to  give  them  the  relish 
that  does  not  pall. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 
THE    FIVE    POINTS 

Nothing  indicates  the  moral  improvement  of  New- 
York  more  than  the  change  the  notorious  locality,  the 
Five  Points,  has  undergone  during  the  past  ten  years. 
It  is  bad  enough  now — bad  as  it  can  be,  one  who  saw 
it  for  the  first  time  would  think;  but,  compared  to 
what  it  was  fifteen  years  ago,  it  is  as  a  white-sanded 
floor  to  the  Augean  stable. 

The  Five  Points,  formed  by  the  intersection  of 
Worth,  Park  and  Baxter  streets,  is  within  a  stone's 
throw  of  Broadway ;  and  yet  there  are  thousands  of 
persons  born  and  reared  here  who  have  never  visited 
the  famous  and  infamous  quarter.  Though  the  place 
has  strangely  changed,  its  reputation  is  nearly  as  vile 
as  ever — showing  how  much  easier  it  is  to  keep  a  bad 
name  than  to  obtain  a  good  one.  The  notoriety  of 
the  Five  Points  is  not  only  national ;  it  is  trans- Atlan- 
tic. Londoners  know  it  as  well  as  St.  Giles;  and 
strangers  ask  to  be  shown  to  it  before  they  visit  Fifth 
avenue  or  the  Central  Park. 

Deformities,  after  all,  seem  more  interesting  than 
beauties  to  the  masses.  Most  men  would  rather  look 
at  a  great  criminal   than   a   distinguished   reformer ; 


The  Five  Points.  273 

would  prefer  tlie  head  of  Probst  the  murderer,  at  the 
Museum  of  Anatomy,  to  the  child-like  face  of  Horace 
Greeley,  in  Printing-house  square. 

The  Five  Points  is  the  festering  nucleus  of  the  Sixth 
ward,  which,  for  nearly  half  a  century,  was  much  the 
worst  in  the  City ;  though  the  Fourth  now  successfully 
disputes  with  it  the  palm  of  vice. 

The  moral  suppuration  extends  far  beyond  the 
Points,  into  Mulberry  and  Mott,  Elm  and  Centre,  Pell 
and  Dover,  James  and  Roosevelt  streets.  Within  half 
to  three-quarters  of  a  mile  to  the  north  and  south-east 
of  the  Points,  poverty  and  depravity,  ignorance  and 
all  uncleanliness,  walk  hand  in  hand,  with  drunken 
gait  and  draggled  skirts.  Wherever  one  turns,  his 
gaze  is  oifended,  his  sensibility  shocked^  his  pity  and 
disgust  excited  at  once. 

The  Five  Points  presents  the  other  side  of  life,  the 
unpleasant  and  painful  side,  which  we  think  to  banish 
by  ignoring.  Going  there,  we  are  brought  face  to 
face  with  the  sternest  and  most  revolting  facts  of  civ- 
ilization, and  compelled  to  admit,  much  as  we  may 
wish  it  otherwise,  that  education  and  advancement  can 
never  be  mor^  than  partial. 

How  vice  always  creeps  under  the  hedge  where 
virtue  blossoms  fragrantly !  The  Five  Points  is  merely 
a  background  to  Broadway  and  Fifth  avenue — a  back- 
ground most  of  us  are  unwilling  to  see,  but  which  ex- 
ists, nevertheless,  in  all  its  hideousness. 

The  Points  does  not  peer  out  at  us  in  its  polluted 
ugliness,  as  we  walk  or  ride  self-satisfied  up  town ;  and 
we  take  good  care  to  shun  such  haunts  in  our  every- 
day life  of  indifference,  interest  or  pleasure. 

Turning  out  of  glittering  and  crowded  Broadway 

18 


274  The  Great  Metropolis. 

through  Worth  street,  nearly  opposite  the  New- York 
hospital,  two  minutes'  walk  brings  us  to  the  Five 
Points,  with  its  narrow,  crooked,  filthj  streets;  its 
low,  foul,  rickety  frames ;  its  ancient,  worn-down,  un- 
savory tenements ;  its  dark,  mephitic  green-groceries ; 
its  noxious  liquor  dens ;  its  unsightly  cellars ;  its  dingy 
old  clothes  and  old  furniture  establishments ;  its  muck, 
and  mire,  and  slime,  reeking,  rotting,  oozing  out  at 
every  pore  of  the  pestiferous  place. 

The  worst  parts  of  London,  and  Constantinople,  and 
Lisbon  are  concentrated  there.  Your  senses  ache, 
and  your  gorge  rises,  at  the  scenes  and  objects  before 
you.  Involuntarily  your  handkerchief  goes  to  your 
nostrils,  and  your  feet  carry  you  away  from  the  social 
carrion  into  which  you  have  stepped.  But  if,  like  a 
young  student  in  the  dissecting-room,  you  have  come 
to  see  and  learn,  you  will  stay  your  flying  feet. 

The  first  thing  that  impresses  you,  is  the  swarm  of 
children  in  every  street,  before  every  house  and  shop, 
and  at  every  corner ;  children  of  all  ages  and  color, 
though  the  general  hue  inclines  to  dirt.  The  offspring 
of  vice  is  prolific  as  the  offspring  of  poverty,  and  both 
are  there.  From  the  coarse  or  cadaverous  infant  in 
its  hard-featured  mother's  arms,  to  the  half-grown  girl 
or  boy,  unkempt,  unwashed,  unrestrained,  the  period 
of  early  youth  is  represented.  Even  maternity  is  not 
sacred  or  tender  there.  No  soft  light  in  the  mother's 
face,  as  she  gives  nourishment  from  the  gross,  all-ex- 
posed bosom  to  the  already  infected  babe. 

What  should  be  the  innocence  of  childhood  is  ban- 
ished from  those  purlieus  of  impurity.  Those  boys 
and  girls  have  no  childhood,  no  youth,  no  freshness, 
no  sweetness,  no  innocence.     They  have  never  eaten 


The  Five  Points.  275 

a  moutliful  of  wholesome  food ;  inhaled  a  breath  of 
untainted  air ;  heard  the  tones  of  a  pure  affection. 
They  are  accursed  from  their  birth ;  formed  to  evil  by 
association ;  bound  to  vice  by  a  chain  of  necessary 
events  they  cannot  break.  Pity  them,  then ;  but  hate 
them  not ;  and  rejoice  that  to  you  fortune  has  been 
less  unkind.  , 

All  along  the  sidewalk,  unless  it  be  cold,  lounge,  sit 
and  stand  men  and  women,  out  of  whom  all  the  gen- 
tleness of  humanity  seems  pressed.  You  cannot  see 
anywhere  a  face  that  woos  or  holds  you.  You  do  not 
hear  a  voice  that  touches  you  with  its  tone.  Hardness, 
and  grimness,  and  filthiness  are  in  the  people  and  the 
placis,  spread  up,  and  down,  ^nd  across  every  visible 
thing. 

How  can  any  mortal  live  there?  you  think.  It 
seems  a  physical  impossibility  in  such  an  atmosphere, 
with  such  surroundings. 

See  the  group  near  the  corner.  That  gray-haired 
crone,  clad  so  slatternly  that  you  shrink  from  passing 
her,  talks  in  a  hoarse,  harsh  voice  to  the  young  mulatto 
woman  who  leans  against  the  broken  door-way  with  a 
dirty  pipe  in  her  mouth,  and  leers  at  you  as  you  go 
by. 

A  stalwart,  cruel-looking  negro  sits  on  the  dirty 
door-step,  and  calls  to  a  white  child  to  get  him  a  dram 
from  the  opposite  grocery — offering  a  penny  for  the 
service. 

A  young  man,  not  nineteen,  perhaps,  but  looking 
far  older  from  the  deep  lines  in  his  face,  and  the  scowl- 
ing expression  about  his  brows,  curses  a  boy  who  peers 
out  of  the  window  above,  and  calls  him  by  names  that 
one  may  not  print.     The  boy  answers  in  kind.     The 


276  The  Great  Metropolis. 

twain  seem  anxious  to  outdo  each  other  in  profanity 
and  obscenity.  You  fancy  murder  may  be  there  until 
you  hear,  rather  than  see,  their  horrid  laugh.  They 
are  really  friends, — such  friends  as  the  Points  alone 
can  create.  They  are  indulging  in  pleasantry.  They 
are  in  their  most  amiable  mood;  and  soon  they  join 
each  other  for  a  hideous  debauch. 

Old  and  young  of  both  sexes,  are  mingled  every- 
where. You  would  hardly  know  the  men  from  the 
women  but  from  their  beards  and  dress.  In  the  women 
the  distinction  of  sex  is  merely  physiological.  They 
swear,  and  drink,  and  fight  like  the  most  brutal  men, 
often  exceed  them  in  coarseness  and  cruelty;  for 
women  who  have  once  violated  their  nature  have  the 
redeeming  virtues  of  neither  sex. 

Germans  are  not  rare  in  the  quarter;  but  they  are 
usually  thrifty.  They  are  buying  and  selling  for  pro- 
fit; and  after  a  short  time  they  move  to  better  neigh- 
borhoods to  set  up  bar-rooms  and  groceries. 

Italians  are  numerous ;  for  they  are  indolent,  sensual 
and  reckless  of  the  future.  They  have  no  bias  against 
dirt  or  vice.  They  love  mendicancy,  and  monkeys, 
and  musical  instruments  when  they  can  be  turned  to 
practical  account.  Give  them  pennies,  and  garlic,  and 
liquor — those  of  the  lazzarone  class  who  dwell  there — 
and  they  will  not  ask  for  other  comforts. 

Some  of  the  most  brutal  and  desperate  men  of  the 
locality  are  English.  They  are  generally  thieves, 
shoulder-hitters,  or  burglars, — sometimes  murderers, — 
and  end  their  lives  in  prison  or  in  the  gutter.  They 
would  die  on  the  scaffold  had  not  New- York  a  preju- 
dice against  hanging  its  greatest  scoundrels.  When 
they  have  done  something  that  deserves  hanging,  they 


The  Five  Points.  277 

are  chosen  members  of  the  Citj  Council  or  Board  of 
Aldermen. 

Negroes  are  scattered  through  the  Points,  though 
most  of  them,  from  a  long  bleaching  process,  have  be- 
come more  Caucasian  than  African  in  their  lineage. 
From  this  constant  intermixture  with  other  races,  they 
have  nearly  died  out,  and  are  far  less  numerous  than 
they  were  a  few  years  ago.  ^ 

One  rarely  sees  a  genuine  black  man  or  woman  in 
the  quarters ;  mulattoes  and  quadroons  have  supplied 
their  place. 

Before  the  War,  some  of  the  most  desperate  charac- 
ters were  negroes.  A  number  of  them  were  shot  and 
stabbed  to  death ;  others,  strange  to  say,  were  hanged, 
and  more,  not  understanding  the  peculiarity  of  Metro- 
politan justice,  were  seized  with  needless  alarm,  and 
ran  away ;  foolishly  believing  other  places  might  be 
as  safe  for  notorious  criminals  as  our  own  dear  New- 
York.  Had  they  been  more  intelligent,  they  would 
have  known  the  folly  of  their  flight. 

Bum-selling  is  the  principal  business  at  the  Five 
Points;  and  it  is  said  there  is  a  groggery  for  every 
hundred  adult  male  inhabitants.  Everybody  drinks, 
even  the  children.  If  they  did  not,  they  would  not 
stay  there.  They  have  to  keep  themselves  down  to^ 
that  unnatural  level  by  increasing  their  bestiality 
through  artificial  means. 

"Fences,"  or  places  for  buying  stolen  goods,  are 
very  common.  There  are  generally  second-hand  stores 
and  pawnbrokers'  shops  combined,  where  a  little  ) 
money  is  lent  on  a  good  deal,  and  where  anything 
is  purchased  without  the  asking  of  impertinent  ques- 
tions. 


278  The  Great  Metropolis. 

Retail  groceries,  where  poor  provisions  are  sold 
dear,  and  liquor  vended  by  license  or  in  secret,  emit 
noisome  odors  at  every  corner. 

Beyond  these  three  branches  of  trade,  commerce 
has  few  representatives.  One  wonders  how  so  many 
shops  can  be  supported.  They  could  not  if  they  had 
honest  dealings  with  their  customers.  But  honesty  is 
not  even  assumed  in  Baxter  street  neighborhoods. 
All  classes  steal ;  and  they  who  are  cheated  last  and 
most,  steal  anew  to  right  themselves, — a  simple  code 
of  mercantile  ethics  that  should  commend  itself  to  the 
more  complicated  one.  Wall  street. 

The  dance-houses,  though  they  no  longer  share  the 
glory  of  the  past,  are  still  a  feature  of  Five  Points  so- 
ciety, and  nowhere  else  can  so  vivid  an  idea  of  them 
be  obtained.  Strangers  and  New-Yorkers  often  visit 
dance-houses  for  curiosity;  but  they  take  the  precau- 
tion to  go  armed,  and  under  the  direction  and  guid- 
ance of  a  policeman.  Even  then  they  sometimes  get 
into  trouble,  and  have  been  attacked  and  hurt  before 
they  could  be  rescued  from  the  thieves,  and  harlots, 
and  desperadoes  among  whom  they  have  gone. 

The  dance-houses  are  kept  by  the  lowest  and  vilest 
of  the  Five  Points  residents,  and  the  dancing  is  usually 
in  cellars,  or  in  back  rooms,  or  •  on  ground  floors. 
'Black  and  white,  males  and  females,  of  all  ages  are  ad- 
mitted free. 

A  cracked  fiddle  or  two  are  supplied ;  and  whoever 
will  accept  a  partner  steps  upon  the  floor,  and  goes 
through  the  figures  of  a  rude  quadrille  or  waltz,  until 
the  musicians  stop  to  drink,  and  the  dancers  to  get 
breath. 

If  a  man  dance  with  one  of  these  unfortunate  crea- 


The  Five-Points.  279 

tures  who  calls  herself  a  woman,  lie  is  expected  to  buy 
her  a  glass  of  liquor.  The  bar  has  its  profit  thereby, 
and  the  proprietor  is  paid  for  keeping  up  his  estab- 
lishment. 

Hour  after  hour  the  grim  and  grinning  cyprians 
dance  and  drink,  and  drink  and  dance,  with  thieves 
and  burglars,  sailors  and  bar-tenders,  cracksmen  and 
murderers,  until  they  are  overpowered  with  liquor, 
and  sink  down  into  brutal  oblivion;  or,  on  the  alert 
for  stealing,  they  wait  for  their  companion's  uncon- 
sciousness, and  plunder  him  of  his  valuables. 

Such  orgies  are  revolting  to  the  last  degree;  for 
there  is  no  assumption  of  decorum,  no  pretense  of  the 
commonest  decency.] 

There  you  see  vice  laid'  naked  in  all  its  deformity ; 
and  consequently,  to  all  but  those  bred  in  its  bosom, 
it  is  too  repulsive  to  be  dangerous,  and  too  loathsome 
to  be  attractive. 

Few  of  the  curious  care  to  witness  Five  Points  life, 
or  any  of  its  phases,  a  second  time.  And  they  who 
have  seen  it  once  must  doubt  when  they  have  gone 
away,  that  such  shameless  sin,  such  unrelieved  gross- 
ness  can  be  daily  and  hourly  indulged  in  and  enjoyed 
by  those  whose  race  and  kind  claim  kindred  with  their 
own. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 
THE    MORGUE. 

The  morgue  in  Paris  has  long  been  one  of  the  ob- 
jects  of  mournful  interest  that  strangers  and  sight-seers 
visit.  The  morgue  in  New-York,  since  its  establish- 
ment, little  more  than  two  years  ago,  has  been  one  of 
the  lions,  though  a  dead  lion,  of  the  City,  and  attracts 
alike  the  curious  and  the  sympathetic  to  its  shadows. 

The  Metropolis  alone  has  a  morgue,  though  all  the 
great  American  cities  need,  and  will  doubtless  have 
one  ere  long.  The  cases  of  "  Found  Drowned,"  "Mys- 
terious Death,"  "Nameless  Tragedy"  and  the  like  are 
constantly  increasing  in  this  country,  particularly  in 
this  City,  and  the  want  of  a  morgue  was  felt  here  years 
before  it  was  instituted.  Suicide  has  grown  so  alarm- 
ingly prevalent  in  the  United  States  within  a  few 
years  that  our  people  threaten  in  undue  season  to 
equal,  if  not  surpass,  the  Japanese  in  self-destruction. 

The  English  and  French  no  longer  enjoy  a  monopoly 
of  throat- cutting,  drowning  and  suffocation  by  char- 
coal. We  Americans  kill  ourselves  for  all  manner  and 
no  manner  of  reasons  ;  and  we  seem  to  find  many  more 
pretexts  for  leaping  off  the  precipice  of  time  than 
the  people  of  other  lands. 

Everything  is  in  extremes  here — the  people,  the  cli- 
mate, the  conditions.     We  are  the  most  nervous  and  in- 


The  Morgue.  281 

tense  tlie  most  eager  and  earnest,  the  most  sanguine  and 
sensitive,  at  once  the  most  hopeful  and  melancholy  na- 
tion on  the  Globe.  We  are  constantly  staking  our  fu- 
ture and  our  destiny  on  the  cast  of  a  die ;  and,  when 
we  lose,  no  wonder  the  thought  of  self  slaughter  rises 
in  our  minds.  We  are  ever  inclined  to  measure  our- 
selves against  Fate  ;  and  when  Fate  wins,  the  click  of 
the  pistol,  or  the  stroke  of  the  razor,  or  the  leap  into 
the  water,  settles  all  scores. 

Moreover,  our  heterogeneous  population,  our  gath- 
ering to  our  republican  bosom  the  refuse  and  outcast 
of  every  soil  and  zone,  naturalizes  here  each  variety  of 
crime,  and  makes  murder  the  chronicle  of  the  hour. 

For  such  a  peculiar  condition  of  a  peculiar  society, 
where  all  races,  rude  and  cultivated,  toil  and  weep  and 
strive,  the  morgue  is  needed — the  sad  epilogue  after 
the  dark  curtain  has  fallen  upon  the  tragedy. 

M-o-R-G-u-E  you  read  in  prominent  letters  over  the 
lowest  door  of  the  Bellevue  hospital  on  the  upper  side 
of  Twenty-sixth  street,  near  the  East  river.  The  let- 
ters are  gilt ;  but  they  seem  set  in  deep  shadows  as 
you  look  at  them,  like  lights  burning  in  vaults  of 
the  dead.  One  might  imagine  the  morgue  had  been 
located  so  near  the  broad,  deep  stream  that  the  mys- 
terious dead  in  its  keeping  might  float  to  the  door  of 
the  sombre  place.  In  the  still  night  the  murmurs  of 
the  river,  and  the  flow  of  the  tide,  sound  strangely 
and  mournfully  in  that  quiet  neighborhood.  They 
seem  calling  for  the  unknown  corpses  under  the  waves 
to  come  to  the  morgue  and  be  recognized. 

The  morgue  will  disappoint  you  when  you  enter  it. 
It  will  remind  you  of  a  subterranean  vault  from  its 
smallness,  quietness  and  dampness.     The  room  devoted 


282  The  Great  Metropolis. 

to  tlie  purpose  is  not  more  than  twenty  feet  square, 
divided  by  a  glass  partition,  an  exact  imitation  of  the 
famous  dead  house  in  Paris. 

One  compartment,  that  to  which  the  public  is  ad- 
mitted, is  entirely  bare.  Nothing  on  the  checkered 
brick  floor,  nothing  on  the  hard,  strong  walls  but  the 
rules  of  the  morgue. 

In  the  other  compartment  beyond  the  glass  partition 
are  four  marble  slabs,  supported  upon  iron  frames. 
Upon  those  slabs  are  exposed  the  bodies,  entirely  nude, 
except  a  slight  wrapping  about  the  lower  part  of  the 
abdomen,  of  the  unfortunates  who  have  been  found 
dead.  Gutta  percha  tubes,  suspended  from  the  ceiling 
and  connected  with  a  reservoir,  drop  water  steadily 
upon  the  foreheads  of  the  corpses  as  they  lie  there,  to 
keep  them  cool  and  fresh,  and  prevent  decomposition 
until  they  are  either  recognized  or  removed  for  burial. 
The  bodies  are  usually  kept  for  twenty-four  hours.  If 
claimed  by  friends  or  acquaintances,  in  that  time,  they 
are  delivered  up  with  the  clothing  they  wore,  and  such 
articles  as  they  may  have  had  on  their  person.  After 
that  period  they  are  interred  at  the  expense  of  the 
City,  the  usual  absurd  coroner's  inquest  having  been 
held — rather  to  show,  it  would  appear,  how  stupid  the 
living  are  than  how  mysterious  the  dead — and  their 
raiment  and  effects  kept  for  six  months  in  the  event  of 
their  possible  identification. 

The  number  of  bodies  at  the  dead-house  varies 
greatly,  but  increases  steadily  every  season.  Some- 
times the  four  slabs  have  each  a  lifeless  occupant, 
though  that  is  seldom  ;  and  at  others  two  or  three  days 
pass  without  the  entrance  of  a  corpse  into  the  morgue. 
The  average  number  of  bodies  is,  about  two  hundred 


The  'Moruge.  283 

a  year ;  and  ten  years  hence,  I  doubt  not  they  will  be 
twice  as  many.  Many  of  the  bodies,  perhaps  the 
greater  part,  are  never  identified ;  nor  is  it  singular 
when  it  is  remembered  how  many  hundreds  there  are 
in  this  vast  City  who  have  neither  abiding  place  nor 
friend. 

The  majority  of  the  corpses  bear  marks  of  violence, 
and  are  discovered  in  the  water.  Probably  one  half 
of  the  persons  found  have  been  murdered,  and  one 
quarter  of  them  have  committed  suicide.  The  other 
quarter  includes  accidental  drowning,  falling  dead  in 
the  street,  run  over  by  street-cars,  and  other  vehicles 
and  the  natural  casualties  of  city  life. 

Strange  histories  and  startling  tragedies  lie  within 
the  life  and  death  of  those  brought  to  the  morgue.  If 
all  they  thought,  and  felt,  and  endured,  and  suffered, 
could  be  known  and  written,  romancers  would  not 
need  to  tax  their  invention  and  ingenuity  for  plots, 
situations  and  catastrophes.  Truth  is  stranger  than 
fiction ;  for  that  is  original,  and  this  only  a  copy.  If 
those  cold,  mute  lips  could  only  speak  from  the  still 
heart,  still  as  the  white  marble  beneath  it,  every  liv- 
ing heart  would  thrill  to  the  utterance  as  it  never  has 
over  Shakspeare,  or  Poe,  or  Dickens. 

A  visit  to  the  morgue  is  attended  with  something  of 
the  fascination  the  horrible  has  for  even  the  finest  of 
us.  We  like  to  linger  there  in  spite  of  the  repulsion 
of  such  a  place.  We  are  held,  as  when  in  the  presence 
of  the  dead,  by  an  indefinable  magnetism,  more  pain- 
ful than  pleasurable ;  and  yet  we  stay.  What  a  flood 
of  suggestions  pours  in  upon  us  as  we  contemplate  the 
naked  figures  through  the  glass!  Who  were  they? 
What  were  they  ?  Who  loved  them?  How  did  they  die? 


284  The  Great  Metrcpo^.is. 

What  were  their  antecedents  ?  Where  are  they  now  ? 
— are  the  questions  every  mind  asks,  and  no  mind  can 
answer. 

That  is  the  figure  of  an  old  and  genteel-looking  man. 
His  hair  is  gray,  but  soft  and  fine.  His  flesh  is  white, 
and  firm,  and  smooth,  as  if  he  had  lived  comfortably 
and  been  well  cared  for.  His  clothes  are  fashionable 
and  expensive.  A  valuable  watch  and  $500  in  money 
were  found  on  his  person.  He  could  not  have  been 
murdered.  He  could  hardly  have  killed  himself  How 
came  he  there  ?  He  was  a  wealthy  gentleman  from 
the  West. 

He  was  staying  at  the  Fifth  Avenue  hotel,  where  his 
daughters  are  still  expecting  him.  While  walking 
through  Twenty-third-street,  in  perfect  health,  he 
reeled  beneath  a  stroke  of  apoplexy,  fell  on  the  side- 
walk and  died  in  three  minutes.  Habits  of  indolence 
and  luxurious  living  have  exacted  their  penalty.  No 
one  knew  him.     He  was  carried  to  the  morgue. 

To-morrow  morning's  papers  will  chronicle  the 
"sudden  death."  His  daughters  will  read  the  descrip- 
tion, hasten  to  the  morgue,  pale  and  frightened,  weep- 
ing and  trembling  ;  go  home  with  his  remains,  and 
forget  him  in  a  month. 

The  blood  still  oozes  from  the  gash  in  this  head. 
The  face  of  the  man  lying  on  the  slat  is  bronzed  and 
scarred  with  hard  lines,  as  if  he  had  led  a  life  of  'toil ; 
had  had  strong  passions,  and  indulged  them.  Nothing 
was  found  on  his  person.  His  pockets  were  turned  in- 
side out.  The  body  was  picked  up  on  one  of  the  East 
river  piers,  as  if  it  had  been  dropped  there  by  one 
who  intended  to  hurl  it  into  the  water,  but  had  been 
frightened  and  hurried  away. 


The  Morgue.  285 

The  suspicion  is  correct.  The  dead  man  was  a 
sailor.  He  had  come  from  Liverpool,  and  with  his 
wages  in  his  pocket  entered  a  low  den  and  dance- 
house  in  Water  street,  was  gotten  drunk  and  an  attempt 
made  to  rob  him.  He  was  powerful  and  resisted 
bravely.  He  struck  the  ruffian  fiercely  in  the  face, 
until  anger  added  to  avarice  made  a  demon  of  the 
robber,  who  seized  a  hatchet  and  buried  it  in  the  vic- 
tim's skull.  No  further  struggle  then.  All  still  as 
death,  for  it  was  death.  Then  the  fear  of  detection, 
the  effort  to  hide  the  murder  in  the  river,  and  the 
failure  through  sudden  alarm. 

But  the  murderer  goes  unpunished.  A  dozen  mur- 
ders have  been  committed  on  his  premises,  and  no  one 
has  yet  been  convicted.  There  have  been  arrests,  but 
nothing  has  been  proved.  The  law  is  lax,  and  in 
New- York  justice  is  represented  only  in  marble  upon 
the  cupola  of  the  City  Hall. 

It  is  folly  to  say  "  Murder  will  out."  It  will  do 
nothing  of  the  sort.  More  murders  are  unknown  than 
revealed.  Without  reward  there  is  little  hope  of  re- 
covery, and  after  a  few  days  no  one  thinks  of  the  most 
horrid  crimes.  The  community  demands  a  victim  to- 
day, but  to-morrow  its  sympathies  are  excited  as  its 
indignation  has  been.  "He  has  not  harmed  me,"  says 
each  one ;   "let  him  go  for  all  me." 

"Found  dead,  with  a  bullet  through  the  brain," 
reads  the  item  in  the  Tribune,  and  adds  that  no  clue  to 
the  murder  or  murderer  has  yet  been  discovered. 
The  body  remains  at  the  morgue  for  twenty-four  hours 
without  recognition.  He  is  a  foreigner,  apparently 
French;  looks  like  a  mechanic;  silver  watch  in  his 
vest  pocket ;    few  dollars  in  his  wallet ;    money  evi- 


286  The  Great  Metropolis. 

dently  not  the  object  of  the  deed.  Two  weeks  pass. 
A  wretched,  hollow-eyed,  half-starved  man  is  picked 
up  drunk  in  the  Bowery.  He  is  incoherent,  raves, 
dreams  terrible  dreams. 

Suspicion  is  awakened.  The  police  look  up  the 
antecedents  of  the  unfortunate,  and  it  is  shown  he 
is  the  murderer  of  the  Frenchman.  When  accused, 
he  makes  confession ;  says  he  does  not  want  to  live. 
His  story  is,  that  he  is  English,  a  resident  of  Birming- 
ham. He  saw  the  Frenchman  first  five  years  before, 
and  the  two  became  friends.  The  Gaul  was  poor, 
penniless  indeed,  and  the  Englishman  took  him  to  his 
home  ;  gave  him  shelter,  money,  procured  him  a  situ- 
ation. The  ungrateful  scoundrel  seduced  his  friend's 
wife ;  eloped  with  her ;  deserted  her  eventually,  and 
came  to  America. 

The  husband  vowed  revenge ;  had  no  other  pur- 
pose;  followed  the  villain  to  these  shores.  Three 
months  after  arrival  in  New- York  he  met  the  French- 
man in  a  concert  saloon ;  invited  him  to  walk  out,  and 
shot  him  dead  in  the  street. 

Imprisonment  and  trial  follow.  The  culprit  has 
neither  friends  nor  money,  and  should  not,  therefore, 
have  indulged  in  the  luxury  of  taking  life.  He  is 
convicted  and  hanged  in  the  Tombs  yard.  Another 
legal  murder,  far  worse  than  the  crime,  is  added  to  the 
disgraceful  list. 

In  America  we  rarely  execute  men  who  take  life  for 
domestic  honor.  No  man  occupying  the  rank  of  gen- 
tleman can  be  hanged  in  the  United  States,  outside  of 
New-England.  But  with  poor  fellows  and  foreigners 
it  is  quite  different.  Ropes  run  smoothly  about  ple- 
beian necks. 


i 


The  Morgue.  28T 

Suicide.  Her  features  are  regular,  her  limbs  well 
formed.  The  gentleness  and  calmness  of  death  have 
come  to  the  worn  and  dissipated  face  turned  upward 
to  the  ceiling  of  the  narrow  room.  She  must  have 
been  young,  not  more  than  twenty,  I  should  judge ; 
and  yet  dead  by  her  own  hand !  The  faint,  peculiar 
odor  of  laudanum  is  about  those  full  but  colorless  lips. 
She  was  found  lifeless  in  a  garret  she  had  rented  the 
day  before,  in  a  miserable  tenement  house  in  Eiving- 
ton  street.  She  had  given  no  name.  She  had  paid 
for  the  room  a  month  in  advance ;  had  gone  out  but 
once,  and  then  they  had  found  her  as  she  now  lies. 
She  left  a  rude  scrawl,  misspelled  and  scarcely  legible : 
"  Tel  George  I  done  it  at  laste.  I  coudent  liv  without 
him.     I  knowd  I  couldent."    Lov  is  the  cans." 

It  is  the  old  story — old  before  Cheop's  time. 
Even  in  the  heart  of  that  uneducated,  untrained, 
friendless,  abandoned  girl,  Love,  after  years  of  prosti- 
tution, had  found  lodgement  and  consecration.  She 
would  have  led,  at  that  late  day,  a  true  life,  had  it 
been  possible  to  her ;  for  love  means  purity  and 
loyalty,  even  to  the  vilest.  But  he^  the  unworthy  ob- 
ject of  a  sacred  passion,  deserted  her ;  and  she  rubbed 
her  dark  memory  from  the  face  of  Nature.  Who  says 
the  age  of  romance  and  poetry  is  over,  when  common 
courtesans  die  every  day  for  the  love  their  loathsome 
calling  would  seem  to  make  them  incapable  of  feel- 
ing? 

The  ghastly  morgue  has,  like  everything  else,  its 
humorous  side. 

Out  of  this  elegant  carriage  steps  a  pretty  girl,  in 
elaborate  toilette,  with  pale,  tear-stained  cheek.  She 
looks  eagerly  through  the  glass,  and  sees  not  a  single 


288  The  Great  Metropolis. 

hody.  She  inquires  if  a  young  maU;,  describing  him  as 
an  Apollo,  has  been  brought  in ;  and  the  person  in 
charge  replies;  ''No,  Miss,  we  haven't  had  nothin' 
this  two  days.  Bizness  is  gettin'  mighty  dull."  So 
the  girl  goes  back  to  the  carriage ;  tells  the  liveried 
coachman  not  to  mention  where  she  has  been,  and  is 
driven  oiF. 

Poor  sentimental  child!  She  has  just  had  her  first 
lover.  He  didn't  come  to  see  her  last  night,  and  they  had 
had  a  little  quarrel  the  evening  previous,  and  she  fondly 
believed  he  had  destroyed  himself  on  that  account. 
Charles  is  really  drinking  champagne  furiously  at  Cu- 
ret's  with  a  college  chum,  and  has  quite  forgotten  all 
about  the  quarrel,  and  "darling  Dora"  beside. 

It  is  not  uncommon  for  .women  to  seek  their  lovers 
at  the  morgue,  though  that  is  the  last  place  they  are 
likely  to  find  them.  But  men  rarely  suspect  their 
mistresses  of  self-destruction,  perhaps  because  there  ts 
such  a  close  connection  in  feminine  minds  between 
love  and  laudanum. 

Wives  who  have'  dissipated  and  eccentric  husbands 
visit  the  morgue  frequently  in  search  of  their  dead 
lords.  Is  their  visit  prompted  by  their  wishes,  or 
their  fears  ? 

The  morgue  is  melancholy,  but  has  its  uses.  You 
and  I  may  meet  there,  reader,  and  no  more  recognize 
each  other  dead  than  living. 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 
ALEXANDER    T.     STEWART. 

More  than  any  one  else  in  America  probably  Alex- 
ander T.  Stewart  is  the  embodiment  of  business.  He 
is  emphatically  a  man  of  money — thinks  money ;  makes 
money;  lives  money.  Money  is  the  aim  and  end  of 
his  existence,  and  now,  at  sixty-five,  he  seems  as  anx- 
ious to  increase  his  immense  wealth  as  he  was  when  he 
sought  his  fortune  in  this  country,  forty  years  ago. 
Riches  with  him,  no  doubt,  have  become  ambition, 
which  is  to  be  the  wealthiest  man  in  the  United-States. 
For  ten  or  twelve  years  William  B.  Astor  has  been  his 
only  rival,  and  it  is  now  uncertain  which  of  the  two  is 
the  greater  capitalist.  Astor  owns  more  real  estate  ; 
but  Stewart  has  the  larger  income. 

Stewart  has  never  been  communicative  about  his 
early  life,  and  those  curious  in  respect  to  it  are  gen- 
erally rebuffed  in  their  inquiries.  It  is  known  that  he 
is  a  native  of  Ireland,  having  been  born  near  Belfast, 
though  he  claims  to  be  descended  from  a  Scotch  fami- 
ly. He  is  of  Scotch-Irish  extraction,  with  the  deter- 
mination, perseverance  and  energy  that  marks  such 
stock,  and  must  of  necessity  have  sprung  from  the 
heroic  defenders  of  Londonderry,  as  all  the  Scotch- 
Irish,  risen  to  any  eminence,  have  done  before  and 
since  his  time. 

19 


290  The  Great  Metropolis. 

In  his  eighth  year  Stewart  lost  his  parents,  and  was 
reared  by  his  maternal  grandfather,  who  intended  to 
educate  him  for  the  Methodist  Church,  of  which  he 
himself  was  a  devout  member.  The  boy  is  reported 
to  have  shown  very  early  a  resolution  to  be  hrst  in 
whatever  he  undertook,  and  to  have  been  foremost  in 
his  class  at  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  where,  like  every 
true  son  of  Erin,  he  graduated  with  honor.  He  was 
then  in  his  eighteenth  year,  and  his  grandfather  being 
dead  he  was  placed  under  the  guardianship  of  a  Qua- 
ker. Not  liking  Ireland  he  concluded  to  seek  his  for- 
tune in  the  New  World,  and  came  here  in  1823  with 
letters  of  recommendation  to  some  of  the  best  families 
of  Friends  in  the  City.  He  was  a  teacher  at  first,  and 
persons  now  living  remember  when  they  sat  under  his 
instruction. 

He  either  did  not  succeed  in  his  calling,  or  did  not 
relish  it ;  for  after  ten  or  twelve  months  of  teaching  he 
entered  a  mercantile  establishment,  though  without 
any  natural  bias  for  trade,  his  friends  say— a  statement 
to  be  received  with  liberal  allowance.  He  had  an  in- 
terest of  some  kind  in  the  house,  and  accident,  it  is 
said,  made  him  a  merchant;  for  his  partner  died 
suddenly  and  left  the  entire  responsibility  of  the  busi- 
ness upon  the  young  man  of  two-and-twenty.  He  then 
determined  to  devote  himself  to  trade,  and  returning 
to  Ireland  sold  thelittleproperty  he  had  there;  bought 
a  lot  of  laces  with  the  money,  and  came  back  to  New- 
York. 

His  store  was  a  very  small,  dismal  one  in  Broadway, 
opposite  the  City  Hall  Park — it  is  torn  down  now — 
but  by  close  application,  skill  and  taste  in  buying,  and  by 
fair  dealing  with  his  customers,  he  soon  secured  a  very 


I 


Alexander  T.  Stewart.  291 

good  trade.  His  judgment  of  goods  was  excellent, 
particularly  of  fine  laces,  and  he  made  a  practice  of 
buying  at  auction  and  retailing  to  much  advantage. 
He  soon  gained  the  patronage  of  a  number  of  wealthy 
and  fashionable  families,  and  so  established  a  prestige 
that  he  has  never  lost.  His  terms  were  reasonable ; 
his  word  could  always  be  depended  on,  and  four  or 
five  years  after  setting  up  for  himself  he  was  on  the 
high  road  to  independence. 

His  small  store  had  by  this  time  become  inadequate 
to  the  accommodation  of  his  numerous  customers,  and 
he  accordingly  purchased  the  lot  in  Broadway  between 
Reade  and  Chambers,  then  occupied  by  the  old  Wash- 
ington Hall,  at  about  one-fifth  of  what  it  is  now  worth. 
He  erected  upon  the  site  his  present  store,  the  first 
marble  building  in  the  great  thoroughfare.  Stewart's 
"  marble  palace,"  as  it  was  long  called,  was  the  admi- 
ration of  the  town  and  wonder  of  the  country,  and  so 
distinctive  that  the  proprietor  has  never  put  up  a 
sign. 

In  the  new  store  Stewart  secured  a  large  wholesale 
trade,  and  soon  grew  to  be  one  of  the  heaviest  impor- 
ters and  jobbers  in  the  City.  For  the  past  fifteen 
years  he  has  done  the  largest  business  in  this  or  prob- 
ably in  any  other  country,  and  it  is  still  increasing 
monthly. 

His  other  up-town  establishment,  corner  of  Tenth 
street  and  Broadway,  is  his  retail  store.  He  built  it 
seven  or  eight  years  ago,  and  has  just  extended  it  to 
embrace  almost  the  whole  square.  It  is  two  hundred 
feet  front  on  Broadway  and  Fourth  avenue,  and  three 
hundred  and  twenty-five   on   Tenth  street,  includes 


292  The  Great  Metropolis. 

nearly  two  acres,  and  the  structure,  six  stories  in  height, 
is  the  largest  dry  goods  store  in  the  World. 

The  third  architectural  achievement  of  Stewart  is 
his  private  residence,  or  what  is  designed  to  be  such, 
in  Fifth  avenue,  corner  of  Thirtv-fourth  street.  It  is 
a  huge  white  marble  pile ;  has  been  four  or  five  years 
in  process  of  erection,  and  has  already  cost  $2,000,000. 
It  is  very  elaborate  and  pretentious,  but  exceedingly 
dismal,  reminding  one  of  a  vast  tomb.  Stewart's  finan- 
cial  ability  is  extraordinary,  but  his  architectural  taste 
cannot  be  commended. 

Numerous  stories  are  told  of  the  merchant  prince, 
some  to  his  credit,  and  more  to  his  discredit ;  but  it  is 
doubtful  if  any  of  them  are  quite  true.  He  is  said  to 
be  very  generous  on  one  hand,  and  extremely  mean 
on  the  other.  He  has  often  given  munificently  to  pub- 
lic charities,  but  of  his  private  contributions  little  is 
heard ;  whether  because  they  are  not  made,  or  because 
he  does  good  by  stealth,  I  shall  not  undertake  to  say. 

During  the  famine  in  Ireland  he  purchased  a  ship, 
loaded  it  with  provisions  and  sent  them  there.  On  the 
return  voyage  he  filled  it  with  young  men  and  women, 
and  obtained  situations  for  them  before  they  had 
reached  this  shore. 

During  the  War  he  gave  at  one  time  to  the  Sanitary 
Commission  a  check  for  $100,000,  which  was  obtained 
in  this  way :  Some  one  having  asked  him  to  contribute, 
he  said  he  would  give  as  much  as  Yanderbilt.  Yander- 
bilt,  on  being  approached,  agreed  to  give  as  much  as 
Stewart.  Stewart  then  sent  the  applicant  back  to 
Yanderbilt,  who,  in  a  fit  of  annoyance,  drew  on  his 
banker  for  $100,000.  Stewart  kept  his  word,  and  the 
Commission  was  $200,000  richer  by  the  operation. 


Alexander  T.  Stewart.  293 

Respecting  his  wealth,  it  is  difficult  to  estimate  it. 
It  is  set  down  at  $30,000,000,  and  even  as  high  as 
$60,000,000.  His  income  varies  greatly.  It  has  been 
less  than  $1,000,000  and  as  much  as  $4,000,000  a  year; 
the  amount  depending  upon  the  activity  of  trade  and 
the  fluctuations  of  the  market.  Every  once  in  a  while 
it  is  reported  in  the  country  that  Stewart  has  failed ; 
but  in  the  City  his  failure  is  known  to  be  impossible, 
as  he  has  always  made  it  a  rule  to  buy  for  cash. 

He  has  the  reputation  of  being  strictly  truthful.  He 
has  but  one  price,  and  all  his  goods  are  what  he  repre- 
sents them  to  be  ;  and  to  those  two  things  he  is  under- 
stood to  attribute  his  success.  He  has  three  partners, 
William  Libby  here,  Francis  Warden  in  Paris,  and  G. 
Fox  in  Manchester,  England,  and  foreign  depots  in 
Manchester,  Belfast,  Glasgow,  Paris,  Berlin  and  Lyons. 
He  supervises  and  conducts  his  whole  business,  and 
works  eight  or  ten  hours  a  day,  not  unfrequently  toil- 
ing over  his  private  ledger  on  Sunday.  He  is  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Episcopalian  Church — St.  Mark's,  corner  of 
Tenth  street  and  Second  avenue — and  regular  in  his 
attendance.  He  is  a  slave  to  business,  rarely  allowing 
himself  any  recreation.  His  happiness  is  in  his  ac- 
counts and  profits,  and  to  be  the  great  merchant  of 
New-York  is  his  comfort  and  his  pride.  He  lives  in  a 
plain  house  in  the  Avenue  opposite  his  unfinished  mar- 
ble mausoleum;  sees  little  company;  has  a  wife,  but 
no  children,  and  must  on  the  whole  have  a  cheerless 
old  age. 

Stewart  is  a  commonplace  man  in  appearance,  of 
medium  height,  slight  in  figure,  thin-visaged,  sharp 
features,  sandy-grayish  hair  and  whiskers;  enjoys  good 
health,  and  on  close  inspection  has  a  shrewd,  searching 


294  The  Great  Metropolis. 

look  which  reveals  his  true  character.  He  is  well 
preserved  and  very  vigorous  for  his  age.  He  makes 
calculations  for  twenty  years  more  of  life,  and  clings 
to  his  immense  fortune  as  if  he  should  draw  compound 
interest  on  it  after  death.  Without  children,  with  no 
future  beyond  the  few  years  that  yet  remain,  all  his 
existence  is  an  unbroken  round  of  anxious  toil,  not 
many  who  may  covet  his  wealth  would,  if  they  knew 
them,  envy  his  surroundings. 


■M 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
THE    DAILY    PRESS. 

Great  newspaper  establishments  are  interesting  to 
everybody  but  the  persons  connected  with  them. 

The  New-York  offices,  from  their  central  and  com- 
manding position,  have  long  been  subjects  of  gossip 
and  objects  of  curiosity.  Out-of-town  people  who 
make  visits  to  the  large  establishments  in  Printing 
House  Square  ;  penetrating  the  mysteries  of  the  press, 
composing  and  editorial  rooms,  and,  possibly,  catching 
a  glimpse  of  Greeley,  Bennett,  Raymond  or  Bryant, 
think  themselves  fortunate,  and  speak  of  the  fact,  for 
years  after,  as  a  memorable  event. 

Though  all  Americans  read  newspapers,  not  many 
have  any  clear  notion  how  they  are  made.  They  have 
no  idea  of  the  amount  of  labor  and  capital  required 
for  the  publication  of  a  leading  daily  in  the  Metropo- 
lis. Indeed,  its  interior  management  and  economy  is 
a  sealed  book  to  them,  which  they  are  very  glad  to 
open  whenever  opportunity  offers. 

The  expense  of  .a  great  morning  daily  here  is  mucfi 
larger  than  is  usually  supposed.  The  Herald  has  been 
the  most  liberal  in  the  getting  of  news,  though  of  late 
it  has  grown  more  economical,  regarding  some  of  its 


296  The  Great  Metropolis. 

past  expenditure  as  wasteful  and  superfluous.  Still, 
whenever  important  intelligence  is  to  be  had,  the 
Herald  is  more  willing  than  any  other  journal  in  the 
country  to  pay  for  it.  Its  daily  expenses  have  been 
estimated  at  $20,000  a  week,  sometimes  more,  some- 
times less ;  and  that  is  not  far  from  the  cost  of  the 
other  quarto  morning  papers.  The  Trihune  spent 
$969,000  year  before  last,  and  cleared  only  $11,000. 
It  would  be  a  fair  estimate  to  reckon  the  cost  of  pub- 
lishing one  of  these  journals  at  $800,000  to  $1,000,- 
000  per  annum. 

The  force  employed  upon  one  of  the  quartos  is  from 
four  to  five  hundred  persons,  including  clerks,  com- 
positors, pressmen,  feeders,  newsmen,  proof-readers, 
reporters  and  editors. 

Each  paper  has  an  editor-in-chief,  who  dictates  the 
course  and  policy  of  the  paper,  and  who  decides  all 
questions  having  reference  to  its  editorial  conduct. 

The  next  to  him  in  rank  is  the  managing  editor, 
who,  in  the  absence  of  the  chief,  is  supreme,  and  who 
attends  to  all  the  details,  the  engagement  and  dis- 
missal of  sub-editors  and  correspondents,  with  power 
to  regulate  salaries,  and  determine  character  of  ser- 
vice. He  is  responsible  to  the  chief,  and  his  subor- 
dinates are  responsible  to  him. 

The  night  editor  is  a  very  important  person.  His 
position  is  arduous  and  responsible,  as  he  has  charge 
of  the  making-up  of  the  paper,  determining  what 
matter  shall  go  in  and  what  stay  out.  He  remains  at 
his  post  until  the  journal  is  ready  to  go  to  press,  be- 
tween 2  and  3  o'clock  in  the  morning,  generally, 
though  he  sometimes  stays  till  daylight.  He  goes 
upon  duty  at  7  in  the  evening,  so  that  his  hours  of 
labor  are  commonly  seven  or  eight. 


The  Daily  Press.  297 

The  foreign  editor  deals  with  the  foreign  news  and 
correspondence  ;  writes  editorials  upon  European  pol- 
itics, and  is  authority  upon  all  matters  belonging  to 
his  department.  He  is  usually  a  foreigner  himself,  and 
conversant  with  several  languages. 

The  financial  editor  is  usually  independent  in  his 
place,  being,  in  most  cases,  a  stockholder,  or  having 
some  proprietary  interest  in  the  concern.  This  posi- 
tion is  the  most  sought  after  of  any  on  a  paper,  and 
is  consequently  filled  by  a  man  who  can  command  in- 
fluence ;  who  has  means,  and  is  well  known  in  banking 
circles.  Financial  editors  generally  name  their  suc- 
cessors before  death  or  resignation — either  of  which 
events  is  improbable — and  believe  the  place  too  good 
to  be  permitted  to  go  out  of  the  family.  They  write 
the  daily  money  articles,  and  have  facilities  for  pecu- 
niary success  that  no  other  journalist  in  the  office  has. 
Nearly  all  of  them  make  money,  the  amount  of  their 
salary  being  of  secondary  importance.  Most  of  them 
grow  rich  through  certain  interests  they  are  allowed 
to  cultivate  in  Wall  street.  I  recall  the  financial  editor 
of  a  leading  daily,  who  retired  after  a  few  years  of 
service,  with  $250,000,  all  made  by  his  position,  and 
another,  not  long  dead,  who  left  a  fortune  of  $300,000. 
To  be  a  money -writer  is  considered  to  be  on  the  direct 
road  to  wealth ;  and  the  road  is  seldom  missed. 

The  city  editor  controls  the  city  news.  All  the  re- 
porters are  under  him.  He  directs  their  movements, 
making  out  every  day,  in  a  large  book,  the  places  for 
them  to  go,  and  the  amount  of  matter  they  are  ex- 
pected to  furnish.  The  managing  editor  holds  him 
responsible  for  the  city  department,  and  he  sees  that 
the  reporters  discharge  their  duty  on  pain  of  dis- 
missal. 


298  The  Great  Metropolis. 

The  principal  dailies  have  day  editors,  who  have 
charge  of  the  office  during  the  day ;  see  visitors  in  the 
absence  of  the  manager ;  receive  or  decline  communi- 
cations, and  direct  the  affairs  of  the  office  from  9  or  10 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  to  5  or  6  in  the  afternoon. 

The  literary  editor  or  reviewer  writes  the  literary 
criticisms ;  receives  all  the  new  books  that  are  sent  to 
the  office,  and  notices  them  according  to  their  merit  or 
demerit.  He  is  an  autocrat  in  his  department,  and  is 
a  man  of  many  and  varied  acquirements,  and  correct 
and  scholarly  tastes.  George  Ripley,  of  the  Tribune 
stands  at  the  head  of  the  reviewers  of  the  City  and 
country,  by  seniority,  culture  and  experience. 

The  art,  dramatic  and  musical  critics  are  indispensa- 
ble to  a  newspaper.  Their  title  implies  their  office. 
They  are  supposed  to  understand  thoroughly  what 
they  write  of,  and  to  be  in  every  way  competent, 
though  between  them  and  the  persons  criticised,  there 
is  usually  a  remarkable  difference  of  opinion.  Some 
of  them  are  very  accomplished  gentlemen,  and  others 
much  less  able  than  they  would  like  to  have  it  sup- 
posed. 

Then  there  are  translators,  of  course,  who  speak  and 
write  French,  German,  Italian  and  Spanish.  One 
translator  I  know,  is  master  of  twenty  different  tongues, 
and  speaks  correctly  every  language  but  his  own. 
Each  large  daily  has  from  twelve  to  thirty  reporters. 
Some  of  them  report  law  cases,  police  matters  and 
fires  exclusively;  while  others  devote  themselves  to 
Brooklyn,  Jersey- City,  Hoboken,  Weehawken,  and 
other  adjacent  towns.  The  city  editor  has  a  number 
of  general  reporters,  some  of  them  stenographers,  who 
are  assigned  by  him  to  duty.     Their  labors  vary  from 


The  Daily  Press.  299 

two  to  eight  hours  a  day.  At  times  they  have  very 
Hght  workj  and  again  they  toil  like  beavers.  When 
occasion  demands,  extra  repqrters,  who  are  always 
numerous,  are  employed,  and  are  paid  for  their  special 
work. 

The  editor-in-chief  of  the  Tribune  is,  as  every  one 
knows,  Horace  Greeley ;  and  the  managing  editor — 
he  has  been  less  than  two  years  in  the  position — is 
John  Russell  Young,  formerly  of  Philadelphia.  The 
editor-in-chief  of  the  Herald  is,  of  course,  James  Gor- 
don Bennett,  and  the  managing  editor,  James  Gordon 
Bennett,  jr.,  when  he  is  in  the  office ;  several  of  the 
other  editors  supplying  his  place  if  absent.  Of  the 
Times^  Henry  J.  Raymond  is  chief,  and  Stillman  S. 
Conant  manager ;  of  the  Worlds  Manton  Marble  chief, 
and  David  G.  Croley  manager;  of  the  Sun^  Charles 
A.  Dana  chief,  and  Isaac  W.  England  manager;  of 
the  Journal  of  Commerce^  David  M.  Stone  chief,  and 
J.  W.  Bouton  manager  ;  of  the  Evening  Post^  William 
Cullen  Bryant  chief,  and  Augustus  Maverick  manager ; 
of  the  Commercial  Advertiser^  Thurlow  Weed  chief, 
and  Chester  P.  Dewey  manager ;  of  the  Evening  Ex- 
jpress^  James  Brooks  chief,  and  Erastus  Brooks  mana- 
ger. 

Those  are  all  the  old  papers ;  and  of  the  new  ones, 
Evening  Telegram^  Evening  Mail^  Evening  News^  Even- 
ing Commonwealth^  Democrat  and  Star^  the  chief  and 
managing  editor  is  generally  the  same  person.  They 
are  small  papers,  and  their  departments  less  numerous 
and  complete  than-those  of  the  long- established  jour- 
nals. 

The  press-room  of  the  morning  dailies  is  a  great 
curiosity  to  many  persons.     They  like  to  see  the  huge 


300  The  Great  Metropolis. 

ten-cylinder  Hoe  press,  throwing  off  sheets  at  the  rate 
of  16,000  an  hour,  but  printing  them  on  only  one  side 
at  a  time.  The  Hoe  press,  it  was  supposed,  was  the 
highest  reach  of  mechanical  skill ;  but  recently  a  new 
press,  the  Bullock,  has  been  invented,  and  threatens  to 
displace  its  rival.  The  Bullock  is  very  small  and  com- 
pact ;  prints  on  both  sides ;  requires  but  one  feeder, 
and  saves  much  expense.  The  paper  is  put  in  in  one 
long  roll,  and  the  wonderful  machine  cuts  the  sheet 
of  the  right  size,  and  throws  it  out  a  perfectly  printed 
journal.  The  Bullock  works  quite  as  rapidly  as  the 
Hoe,  and  is  said  to  spoi]  fewer  papers.  It  has  so  many 
advantages  over  Hoe's,  that  it  ere  long  promises  to 
take  its  place  in  most  newspaper  establishments  in  this 
country  and  Europe. 

Ten  or  twelve  years  ago,  the  New- York  papers  be- 
gan to  stereotype  their  forms,  thereby  saving  the  wear 
of  the  type,  and  in  other  ways,  fully  20  per  cent,  upon 
the  old  plan.  Each  office  has  a  stereotyping  room, 
and  the  process  is  as  follows.  The  forms  are  made  up 
on  curved  plates.  When  the  type  is  all  set,  a  pulpy 
preparation  of  paper  is  pressed  upon  them,  and  it  is 
of  such  consistency  as  to  keep  the  mold  of  the  type 
exactly.  Into  this  mold  liquid  type  metal  is  poured 
(it  does  not  burn  the  paper  because  of  its  moisture) ; 
and  a  solid  plate  formed  as  if  the  original  type  were 
all  welded  together.  This  plate  is  put  upon  the  press, 
and  the  impressions  of  the  journal  made.  The  forms 
of  the  Tribune^  Herald^  Times ^  and  recently  the  Worlds 
are  all  stereotyped. 

The  metropolitan  journals,  considering  the  natural 
and  acquired  advantages  they  enjoy,  are  not  all  they 
ought  to  be.     And  yet,  they  are  as  a  class,  superior  to 


The  Daily  Press.  301 

those  of  any  city  in  Europe.  In  fact,  outside  of  Lon- 
don, and  the  Times,  they  have  no  rivals  there;  for  the 
Paris,  Berlin  and  other  Continental  journals,  though 
able  in  some  particulars,  amount  to  little  as  a  journal- 
istic whole. 

The  London  Times  has  obtained  a  power  and  influ- 
ence in  Europe  that  no  one  journal  could  obtain  in  the 
United  States.  It  stands  almost  entirely  alone ;  and 
its  opinions  and  predictions  are  looked  to  with  an  in- 
terest, and  carry  a  weight,  which  we  Americans,  ac- 
customed to  think  for  ourselves,  can  hardly  understand. 
Its  editorials  from  first  to  last,  are  the  strongest,  clear- 
est, and  best  written  on  either  side  of  the  Atlantic. 
Those  in  New- York  are  often  as  good,  sometimes  su- 
perior ;  but,  on  an  average,  fall  below  the  standard  of 
the  "Thunderer." 

The  leaders  of  the  Times,  with  its  correspondence 
and  parliamentary  reports,  make  up  its  excellence. 
With  all  its  ability,  it  is  heavy  and  unenterprising  and 
would  not  be  successful  in  this  country,  where  we  de- 
mand more  variety  and  lightness,  more  humor  and 
much  more  news. 

A  defect  of  the  metropolitan  dailies  is,  that  they  too 
closely  imitate  the  English  papers  in  excess  of  foreign 
news  and  overfulness  of  reports — giving  matters  really 
of  little  general  interest,  to  the  exclusion  of  what  is 
more  important.  Americans  naturally  care  far  less 
about  European  affairs  than  the  Europeans  themselves ; 
but  our  daily  journals  do  not  seem  yet  to  have  dis- 
covered the  fact.  The  result  is  that  we  have  long 
letters  from  abroad,  often  with  little  mention  of  the 
condition  of  things  in  our  home  cities  and  territories. 

Condensation  is  not  one  of  the  journalistic  virtues 


302  .     The  Great  Metropolis. 

of  New- York,  especially  in  telegrams,  which  every- 
day fill  several  columns,  when  all  they  contain  might 
better  be  expressed  in  one-fourth  of  the  space. 

The  use  of  the  telegraph  originally  was  to  transmit 
news  of  importance  ;  but  of  late  it  seems  to  be  to  give 
unimportant  news  significance.  That  is  sent  over  the 
wires  which,  but  for  such  sending,  would  not  be  printed 
at  all. 

It  is  very  common  for  our  night  editors  to  omit  an 
item  of  city  news  to  give  space  to  something  much 
less  interesting  that  has  been  received  by  telegraph. 
They  appear  to  think  it  of  no  consequence  that  a 
New-Yorker  has  broken  his  neck,  but  of  the  greatest 
that  a  laborer  on  a  Western  railway  or  a  freedman  in 
Texas  has  been  killed  by  a  locomotive  or  a  ruffian 

When  our  dailies  comprehend  that  what  Americans 
are  most  interested  in  is  America, we  shall  be,  jour- 
nalistically, much  better  off. 

Newspapers  seem  to  imagine  themselves  as  much 
privileged  to  misrepresent  their  circulation  as  fops  their 
follies  or  cowards  their  courage.  Hence  it  is  very 
difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  give  the  exact  circulation 
of  any  daily ;  though,  inasmuch  as  I  have  made  dili- 
gent inquiry,  and  have  what  should  be  trustworthy 
sources  of  information,  the  figures  I  give  in  round  num- 
bers ought  to  be  nearly  correct.  The  circulation  of 
the  best  known  morning  and  evening  papers  I  esti- 
mate as  follows : 


Herald       . 

70,000 

Evening  Post        .         . 

9,000 

Sun 

50,000 

Evening  Express 

7,000 

Tribune 

.     40,000 

Evening  Mail 

6,000 

Times     ^ 

35,000 

Commercial  Adv. 

3,500 

World 

.     25,000 

Jqurnal  of  Commerce   . 

2,500 

The  Daily  Press.  303 

Of  the  new  papers  I  have  no  means  of  judging. 
The  Star  (morning),  Democrat  (morning  and  evening), 
and  the  Telegram  and  Neivs  (evening),  claim  to  count 
their  circulation  by  tens  of  thousands ;  while  the  fig- 
ures of  the  Commonwealth,  also  evening,  I  have  not 
heard  stated. 

The  circulation  of  the  dailies  has  greatly  decreased 
since  the  close  of  the  War.  The  leading  quartos  ran  up 
on  some  days  of  the  Rebellion,  when  accounts  of  bat- 
tles were  received,  to  over  a  hundred  thousand,  the 
sales  even  reaching  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  in 
twenty-four  hours. 

During  the  present  year,  the  circulation  of  the  Tri- 
hune^  Sun  and  World  has  gone  up  more  rapidly  than 
that  of  their  cotemporaries.  The  Herald^  increases 
steadily,  with  occasional  fluctuations. 

The  Herald  much  as  it  is  condemned  and  abused  is, 
on  the  whole,  the  most  enterprising  and  best  managed 
newspaper  in  the  City.  James  Gordon  Bennett  un- 
questionably understands  the  philosophy  of  journalism 
and  the  secret  of  popularity.  Without  any  particular 
convictions  or  fixedness  of  principle  himself,  he  gives 
no  one  else  credit  for  them ;  and  therefore  thinks  the 
best  thing  is  to  render  his  paper  acceptable  to  the 
largest  class  of  people  possible. 

That  he  does  without  regard  to  consistency  for 
which  he  has  no  respect ;  and  thus  freed  from  the  or- 
dinary restraints  that  develop,  but  often  hinder  mortals, 
it  is  not  strange  he  has  achieved  great  material  success. 

Something  over  thirty- three  years  ago  Bennett,  in 
a  dingy,  subterranean  office  in  Ann  street,  issued  the 
first  number  of  the  Herald^  a  small,  inferior-looking 
sheet,  doing  all  the  editorial  work  with  his  own  hand ; 


304  The  Great  Metropolis. 

and  to-day  he  has  the  most  wealthy  daily  in  the  United 
States. 

The  great  fire  in  December,  1835,  was  fully  and 
graphically  reported  in  the  Herald^  the  first  time 
such  a  thing  had  ever  been  done  or  even  attempted, 
in  the  country  ;  and  the  remarkable  enterprise  of  the 
journal  on  that  occasion  brought  it  into  general  notice, 
and  gave  it  a  reputation  for  news  that  it  has  never 
lost. 

Bennett  says  he  publishes  the  Herald  to  make  money 
(he  might  have  added  for  his  own  glorification),  not  for 
the  benefit  of  philosophers,  which  is  a  hit  at  the  Tribune. 
Privately  he  does  not  assume  to  control  or  mold  public 
opinion,  but  to  follow  it ;  and  he  generally  manages  to  be 
about  twenty-four  hours  behind  it,  that  he  may  publicly 
declare  he  has  anticipated  and  created  it.  The  Herald 
is  consistent  only  in  its  inconsistency,  and  its  determi- 
nation to  be  on  the  strong  or  popular  side  of  every 
question.  By  miscalculation  or  misunderstanding,  it 
sometimes  gets  on  the  unpopular  side ;  but,  the  moment 
it  discovers  its  mistake,  it  leaps  to  the  other  with  no- 
ticeable alacrity. 

Bennett  understands  that  a  daily  newspaper  is  em- 
phatically a  thing  of  to-day,  and  that  the  mass  of  people 
care  very  little  for  what  it  has  said  yesterday,  or  may 
say  to-morrow.  Consequently,  he  issues  every  num- 
ber as  if  there  never  had  been,  and  never  would  be 
another,  and  so  prospers.  Its  rivals  declare  the  suc- 
cess of  the  Herald  a  libel  upon  the  general  intelligence. 
Perhaps  it  is ;  but  its  success,  great  and  growing,  is  an 
undeniable  fact,  from  which  any  one  may  draw  his  own 
inferences. 

The  Herald  makes  a  feature  of  sensation  of  some  part 


The  Daily  Press.  305 

of  its  news  every  morning ;  and,  if  there  be  no  im- 
portant news,  creates  its  appearance  by  typographical 
display.  Its  matter  is  carelessly  prepared,  for  the 
most  part,  but  altogether  acceptable  to  its  readers,  and 
therefore  what  Bennett  approves. 

The  Sun  is  the  oldest  morning  paper  in  town  except 
the  Journal.  It  made  a  good  deal  of  money  for  its 
original  proprietor,  Moses  Y.  Beach.  He  disposed  of 
it  eight  or  ten  years  ago,  and  the  purchasing  parties 
unable  to  manage  it,  lost  heavily,  and  were  glad  to 
sell  it  to  Beach  again.  The  Sun  during  the  Beach 
period  was  the  organ  of  the  workingmen,  and  the  ad- 
vocate of  their  interests.  It  was  a  penny  paper  until 
the  depreciation  of  the  currency  made  it  necessary  to 
advance  it  to  two  cents.  For  many  years  it  had  the 
largest  circulation  of  any  daily  in  New- York,  and  may 
have  again. 

Last  January  the  Sun  was  revolutionized  by  its  sale 
to  Charles  A.  Dana,  representing  a  number  of  wealthy 
stockholders,  of  whom  he  is  one.  It  was  removed 
from  Fulton  and  Nassau  to  the  reconstructed  buildings 
corner  of  Nassau  and  Frankfort  streets,  formerly  occu- 
pied as  Tammany  Hall.  The  Sun  deserves  its  name  ; 
for  it  has  the  reputation  of  the  brightest  daily  in  the 
City.  It  is  independent,  high-toned,  liberal  and  perfectly 
good-natured.  Its  editorial  corps  consists  of  a  num- 
ber of  highly  cultivated  gentlemen  and  in  its  freedom 
from  bitterness,  party  rancor  and  one-sided  judgment 
is  an  example  the  larger  papers  might  imitate  to  ad- 
vantage. The  Sun  abounds  in  graceful  and  vigorous 
articles,  and  is  characterized  by  a  playful  irony  so  subtle 
often  as  to  escape   detection  by  many  of  its  readers. 

It  adheres  to  \]^  ancient  motto,  and  "shines  for  all." 
20 


306  The  Great  Metropolis. 

It  is  said  to  be  very  prosperous,  and  it  certainly  de 
serves  all  its  prosperity. 

The'  Tribune^  in  spite  of  its  crotchets  and  occasional 
violence^  has  wielded  and  still  wields  a  greater  influ- 
ence than  any  other  daily  in  New-York.  An  anti- 
slavery  paper  twenty  years  ago — the  cause  was  most 
unpopular  then — it  has  lived  to  see  the  "peculiar  in- 
stitution" abolished,  and  its  own  principles  triumphant. 

The  Tribune  is  so  identified  with  Horace  Greeley, 
that  it  is  difficult  to  tell  what  it  would  be  without  him. 
He  is  so  intensely  personal,  and  capricious  often,  that 
he  is  constantly  furnishing  clubs  to  his  antagonists  to 
strike  the  causes  he  defends  with  such  ability  and 
earnestness. 

The  original  stock  of  the  Tribune  was  a  hundred 
shares  of  a  thousand  dollars  each  (Greeley  began  the 
paper  with  a  thousand  dollars  of  borrowed  money) 
and  the  shares  are  now  worth  more  than  six  thousand 
dollars.  It  has  made  money,  but  not  nearly  so  much 
as  it  ought  to  have  done,  the  consequence  mainly  of 
being  under  the  control  of  a  board  of  free-voiced 
stockholders,  who  always  interfere  with  the  govern- 
ment of  a  journal.  A  newspaper  should  be  an  autoc- 
racy, and  to  the  fact  that  the  Herald  is  such,  much  of  its 
success  is  owing. 

The  Tribune  is  able,  probably  the  ablest  daily  in  the 
City,  for  it  has  always  had  more  capacity  and  culture 
on  its  staff  than  any  other  paper,  though  it  has  not  al- 
ways used  its  means  or  strength  wisely.  It  aims  to  be 
more  a  vehicle  of  opinion  than  of  news,  and  its  edi- 
torials are  allowed  to  crowd  out  interesting  intelligence 
almost  every  day  ;  albeit  most  of  its  readers  would,  I 
suspect,  prefer  facts,  which  are  universal,  to  leaders 


The  Daily  Press.  307 

which  are,  after  all,  only  the  expression  of  an  individ- 
ual. There  is  no  good  reason  why  the  Tribune  should 
not  be  the  most  interesting  newspaper  as  well  as  the 
ablest  journal  in  the  City.  Until  good  old  Horace 
Greeley  is  gathered  to  his  fathers,  and  some  man  suc« 
ceeds  him  who  can  be  made  to  believe  his  daily  opin- 
ions are  not  vital  to  the  salvation  of  the  Republic,  I 
look  for  little  change  in  the  great  radical  organ  of  the 
New  World. 

The  Times^  which  has  been  accused  of  political  in- 
stability, has  shown  decided  improvement  recently, 
and  is  a  very  readable  paper.  Its  editorials  generally 
are  well  written,  though  not  so  vigorous  as  those  of 
the  Tribune.  Its  correspondence,  its  news,  and  its  lite- 
rary department  are  very  creditable.  It  was  started 
as  a  penny  paper  by  the  Harpers,  and  sank  $80,000  or 
$90,000  before  it  began  to  pay  for  itself  Since  then 
it  has  been  pecuniarily  successful ;  has  been  for  years  a 
stock  company,  though  its  shareholders  have  no  voice  in 
its  direction,  which  is  entirely  under  the  control  of 
Raymond,  one  of  the  best  journalists  in  the  country. 

The  Worlds  for  the  money  it  spends  and  the  force 
it  employs,  is  probably  the  best  conducted  paper  here. 
Its  political  editor  and  director,  Manton  Marble,  is  a 
very  forcible  and  graceful  writer,  and  a  shrewd  and 
energetic  manager.  Ultra-democratic  in  its  politics,  it 
is  a  formidable  and  tireless  enemy  of  the  Tribune  and 
Times^  and  its  editorials  are  not  excelled  in  strength 
and  plausibility  by  any  in  New- York.  It  is  unquestion- 
ably the  best  made-up  daily  in  town  ;  and,  though  fre- 
quently positive,  even  to  bitterness,  it  is  never  weak 
and  rarely  inconsistent. 
.    The  World  was  begun  as  a  religious  journal,  and 


308  The  Great  Metropolis. 

after  various  changes,  during  which  it  is  said  to  hfove 
sunk  $300,000  or  $400,000,  it  became  the  organ  of 
the  democracy  in  the  Metropolis,  especially  of  the 
Manhattan  club,  and  has  long  been  on  a  paying  basis. 

It  imitates  the  Herald  too  closely  in  its  news  and 
correspondence  to  be  in  quite  good  taste.  It  is  de- 
termined to  make  the  most  of  what  it  has,  and  is  so 
wedded  to  sensation  that  its  chief  fault  is  overdoing. 

The  Journal  of  Commerce  is  one  of  the  old  Wall 
street  journals,  has  retained  some  of  its  influence  and 
all  of  its  prosperity.  It  is  eminently  respectable,  and 
weU  edited,  though  it  does  not  enter  into  competition 
with  the  morning  quartos  as  a  newspaper.  It  is  the 
organ  of  the  wholesale  merchants  and  importers,  and 
has  made  a  fortune  for  half  a  dozen  of  its  proprietors. 
It  is  the  oldest  journal  in  the  City,  and  was,  twenty 
years  ago,  one  of  the  most  enterprising.  It  long  ago 
retired  into  comparative  obscurity,  contented  to  re- 
ceive its  ample  dividends,  and  leave  the  strife  of  jour- 
nalism to  younger  heads  and  more  ambitious  hearts. 

The  Star  is  an  offshoot  of  the  old  Sim^  and  assumes 
to  be  its  legitimate  successor.     It  was  started  by  seve-      ; 
ral  attaches  of  the  Beach  journal,  and  is  very  much  M 
what  that  was  in  appearance,  tone  and  character.     It 
has  not  yet  completed  its  first  year.     It  began  as  a    . 
penny  paper,  and  is  now  sold  for  two  cents.     It  does 
not  belong  to  the  Associated  Press,  nor  do  any  of  the 
evening  journals  except  those  heretofore  named.     The 
Star  is  vigilant  and  persevering  in  watching  the  rights 
of  labor  and  laborers,  and  its  future  prospects  are  re- 
ported to  be  good. 

The  Democrat  is  the  new  ultra-democratic  journal  set 
up  here  a  few  months  since  by  Mark  M.  Pomeroy  of 


i 


The  Daily  Pkess.  309 

the  famous  La  Crosse  Democrat  First  it  was  an  even- 
ing, now  it  is  a  morning  paper.  Its  editor  and  pro- 
prietor claims  to  liave  met  with  remarkable  success, 
and  to  be  firmly  established  in  the  good  will  of  the 
toiling  millions. 

The  influence  of  the  evening  is  naturally  much  less 
than  that  of  the  morning  journals ;  the  Post  being 
the  ablest  and  most  influential  of  the  entire  number. 
It  is  carefully  edited,  though  its  elder  and  best-known 
conductors  spend  much  of  their  time  in  Europe.  Its 
columns  are  fastidiously  free  from  indelicacy  or  pru- 
riency, and  it  well  deserves  to  be  considered  a  family 
newspaper. 

The  Commercial  Advertiser  is  interesting  and  new 
life  has  been  given  it  by  Thurlow  Weed.  Its  proprie- 
tors have  not  shown  much  disposition  to  make  money. 

The  Evening  Express  is  managed  with  tact  and  econo- 
my by  the  Brooks  Brothers,  who  make  an  excellent 
newspaper  and  $40,000  a  year. 

The  Telegram^  a  kind  of  evening  edition  of  the 
Herald^  is  owned  by  James  Gordon  Bennett,  jr.,  is 
lively  and  full  of  news,  and  sold  for  two  cents. 

The  Evening  News  is  the  property  of  Benjamin 
Wood,  and  the  only  penny  paper  in  town.  It  seems 
to  have  a  very  large  circulation,  and  those  who  ought 
to  know  declare  it  profitable.  It  is  given  over  to  po- 
lice news  and  every  variety  of  crime,  and  no  doubt 
suits  its  readers  exactly. 

The  Evening  Cornmonwealth  is  but  five  or  six  months 
old,  a  Republican  two-cent  paper,  very  dignified  and 
conscientious,  though  not  so  vivacious  or  forcible  as  it 
might  be.  It  is  said  to  be  gradually  but  steadily  creep- 
ing into  favor. 


310  The  Great  Metropolis. 

There  are  three  German  morning  dailies;  State 
Gazette^  Democrat^  and  Journal^  and  one  German  even- 
ing paper,  the  Times.  There  are  two  French  morning 
journals,  the  Courier  of  the  United  States  and  the 
Franco- American  Messenger ;  and  these  end  the  list  of 
the  dailies  in  the  Metropolis. 

There  never  has  been  a  time  when  the  City  had  so 
many  evening  papers;  and  it  is  probable  they  will  in- 
terfere with  each  other  so  strongly  that  some  of  them 
must  yield  to  the  struggle  for  existence  before  long, 
and  go  down  to  early,  though  not  unlamented  graves. 


I 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
THE    WEEKLY    PRESS. 

Few  persons  who  live  out  of,  or  even  in,  New- York 
are  aware  of  the  number  of  weekly  papers  published 
in  the  City:  indeed,  I  venture  to  say  no  journalist 
here  can  name  half  of  them.  They  are  devoted  not 
only  to  news,  literature,  agriculture,  amusements,  art, 
music  and  crime,  bat  to  various  interests  and  kinds  of 
business,  and,  all  told,  amount  to  about  one  hundred 
and  fifty.  Among  the  secular  weeklies,  the  best  known 
are  Har^pers'  Weekly^  Harpers'  Bazaar^  Frank  Leslie's 
Illustrated  News,  Round  Table,  Nation,  Ledger,  Citizen, 
Home  Journal,  Leader,  Weekly  Review,  Sunday  Mer- 
cury, Sunday  News,  Dispatch,  Sunday  Times,  Literary 
Album,  Anti' Slavery  Standard,  Revolution,  Clipper, 
Spirit  of  the  Times,  and  Police  Gazette.  Of  the  re- 
ligious press,  the  Independent,  Examiner,  Evangelist, 
Methodist,  Observer,  Tablet,  Liberal  Christian,  Chris- 
tian Advocate,  Christian  Inquirer^  and  Church  Journal 
are  most  prominent. 

The  Ledger  is  the  most  popular  of  the  weeklies, 
having  at  present  a  circulation  of  over  three  hundred 
thousand.  Robert  Bonner,  the  proprietor,  was  at  one 
time  a  poor  printer-boy,  who  made  his  journal  famous, 
and  the  source  of  a  large  fortune,  by  extremely  lib- 


312  The  Great  Metropolis. 

eral  advertising.  It  is  a  story -paper,  and  one  of  the 
very  best  of  its  kind.  Bonner  employs  the  best  talent 
he  can  command,  particularly  the  celebrities,  at  mu- 
nificent rates.  Almost  every  v\rriter  in  the  country  has 
either  contributed,  or  thought  of  contributing,  to  the 
Ledger^  at  his  own  prices.  Henry  Ward  Beecher's 
''Norwood"  was  a  good  acquisition  to  the  Ledger^  in- 
creasing its  circulation  fully  one  hundred  thousand. 

Bonner  may  sometime  engage  Louis  Napoleon,  Gar- 
ibaldi, the  Tycoon  of  Japan  and  Pio  Nono,  for  his 
thought  by  day,  his  dream  by  night  is  whom  he  shall 
next  secure  as  a  contributor  to  the  Ledger. 

The  majority  of  the  paper's  readers  are  women  and 
young  people — it  is  intended  for  a  family  journal, — 
though  many  men  of  culture  con  its  columns  reg- 
ularly. 

All  newspaper  publishers  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude 
to  Bonner,  inasmuch  as  his  eminent  success  is  the 
strongest  evidence  of  the  advantage  of  advertising. 

The  illustrated  papers  number  a  dozen,  probably ; 
the  best  being  Harpers'  Weekly^  the  Bazaar  and  Franh 
Leslie's.  Harpers'  publications  rank  highest,  especially 
in  the  literary  department,  and  have  the  largest  circu- 
lation. The  Weekly  and  Bazaar  claim  a  circulation  of 
over  one  hundred  thousand  each,  while  Leslie's  is 
about  sixty  or  seventy  thousand.  Both  have  made  a 
great  deal  of  money,  and  every  year  adds  to  their 
profits. 

The  Bound  Table  and  Nation  are,  as  literary  and 
critical  journals,  the  ablest  in  the  country;  in  fact, 
almost  the  only  ones  that  hold  any  rank  or  deserve 
any  reputation.  The  Bound  Table  has  more  piquancy 
and  variety,  the  Nation  more  force  and  solidity.     Both 


The  Weekly  Press.  313 

have  had  a  hard  struggle,  but  are  now  said  to  be  on  a 
sound  and  paymg  basis.  They  employ  some  of  the 
ablest  pens  in  the  Metropolis  and  New-England,  and 
are  edited  with  conscientious  tact  and  zeal. 

The  Revolution^  published  and  edited  by  Susan  B. 
Anthony  and  Elizabeth  Cady  Stanton,  is  an  able  and 
energetic  exponent  of  women's  rights,  and  radical  on 
all  subjects.  It  is  too  ultra  for  most  people ;  but  it  is, 
no  doubt,  doing  a  needful  work  by  elevating  the  char- 
acter and  stimulating  the  independence  of  women. 

The  religious  papers  are  published  in  the  interest 
of  the  different  sects,  and,  very  naturally,  each  is  the 
favorite  of  the  church  it  represents.  The  Independent 
is  the  most  independent  in  character  as  well  as  in  name, 
and  the  most  profitable.  It  is  published  by  Henry 
C.  Bo  wen,  formerly  a  Broadway  merchant,  and  is  said 
to  yield  him  $50,000  to  $60,000  a  year.  Theodore 
Tilton  is  its  principal  editor,  at  a  salary  of  $7,000  a 
year — one  of  the  highest  paid  in  New- York.  The 
Methodist^  Observer^  Examiner  and  Liberal  Gliristian 
are  the  ablest,  and  make  the  largest  returns  to  the 
proprietors. 

The  Citizen  gained  considerable  reputation  through 
its  late  editor,  General  Charles  G.  Halpine,  better 
known  as  "Miles  O'Reilly."  He  was  a  clever,  rollick- 
ing, careless,  good-hearted  Irishman,  a  kind  of  scrib- 
bling Dugald  Dalgetty,  who  had  the  knack  of  flat- 
tering people  into  good  humor  with  themselves  and 
good  feeling  for  him.  He  obtained  his  first  notoriety 
by  a  series  of  adroit  and  ludicrous  tricks,  and  was 
elected  to  a  municipal  office,  worth  $40,000  a  year, 
which  he  held  at  the  time  of  his  sudden  death. 

The  Citizen  is  often  aromatic  and   generally  read- 


314  The  Great  Metropolis. 

able.  Its  circulation  is  not  large,  but,  as  it  has  the 
City  printing,  it  is,  no  doubt  on  a  firm  financial  foun- 
dation. It  is  half  political,  half  literary,  and  seems  to 
flourish. 

The  Home  Journal  has  manifested  more  signs  of 
life  since  the  death  of  N.  P.  Willis,  with  whom  it  was 
for  many  years  identified.  It  claims  to  be  an  elegant 
journal  of  polite  society,  and  has  recently  wrought 
the  Jenkins  vein  to  advantage.  The  latest  follies  of 
Fifth  avenue  are  always  chronicftd  with  fervor  and 
fidelity  in  its  columns. 

The  Sunday  papers,  such  as  the  Mercury^  News  and 
Police  Gazette^  are  sensation  journals  of  a  curious  sort, 
to  which  a  murder  is  a  benison,  and  an  intrigue  a 
godsend.  They  deal  with  what  the  dailies  will  not 
mention,  or  print  in  brief,  enlarging  with  keen  relish 
and  elaborate  pruriency  upon  details  that  delicacy 
would  eschew. 

They  reprint  all  the  sensational  facts  and  gossip  they 
can  find  in  the  country  press,  or  exhume  from  the 
licentious  haunts  of  the  City.  They  are  widely  read, 
of  course,  and  are,  for  the  most  part,  profitable.  The 
better  class  of  the  community  do  not  read  them,  unless 
they  happen  to  contain  something  extraordinary  racy 
and  wanton,  when  curiosity  overcomes  the  scruples  of 
conscience  and  the  dictates  of  decorum. 

Another  class  of  weeklies  are  those  styled  literary, 
which  publish  highly-colored  stories,  with  absurd  inci- 
dents and  impossible  characters  of  the  Rinaldo  Hinal- 
dini,  and  Alonzo  and  Melissa  class.  No  educated 
person  would  believe  a  market  for  such  matter  could 
be  found;  and  yet  publications  like  the  Literary  Al- 
bum  and  Neiv   York    Weekly   have  a  circulation   of 


The  Weekly  Press.  315 

seventy  or  eighty  thousand,  and  make  their  proprietors 
rich.  It  costs  little  to  print  them ;  the  original  stories 
being  written  by  some  impecunious  hack,  at  the  rate 
of  one  or  two  dollars  a  column,  and  the  slender  edito- 
rial compounded  with  paste  and  scissors.  Such  jour- 
nals are  circulated  almost  entirely  in  the  country,  few 
persons  in  the  City  being  aware  of  their  existence. 

The  worst  class  of  weeklies  are  the  Police  Gazette 
and  the  publications  devoted  to  prize-fighting,  criminal 
news  and  flash  intelligence.  They  are  abominably 
written,  and  illustrated  with  hideous  cuts,  enough  to 
frighten  Ajax  or  Diomede,  and  are  read  with  avidity 
in  Greene,  Mercer,  Water  and  Houston  streets.  Bar- 
rooms and  bagnios,  gambling  saloons  and  rat-pits  pat- 
ronize them,  and  consider  them  the  most  entertaining 
and  instructive  journals  in  the  World. 

The  profession  of  journalism,  though  possessed  of  a 
strange  species  of  fascination,  which  holds  those  once 
embarked  in  it,  and  draws  back  to  it  the  men  who 
have  endeavored  to  escape,  is,  considering  the  culture, 
training  and  devotion  it  requires,  the  least  remunera- 
tive of  callings. 

Journalists  who  follow  their  profession  zealously  for 
years,  find,  after  they  have  worn  themselves  out  in  its 
arduous  service,  that  their  prospects  are  no  better  than 
when  they  began.  They  have  not  saved  more  than 
enough  to  meet  their  daily  expenses,  and,  when  they 
can  no  longer  work,  they  are  set  aside  as  of  no  further 
use,  and  fresh  and  younger  put  in  their  place.  Repub- 
lics may  be  ungrateful,  but  they  are  far  less  so  than 
newspaper  publishers,  for  the  most  part  men  of  money 
rather  than  culture,  without  sympathy  with  those  who 
toil  their  lives  out  for  a  salary  hardly  equal  to  that  of 
a  good  mechanic  or  an  accomplished  cook. 


316  The  Great  Metropolis. 

Any  other  business,  faithfully  followed,  gains  in 
value  with  years ;  and  he  who  retires  from  it  can  sell 
its  good  will  for  a  bonus.  The  bonus  of  not  a  few  im- 
provident journalists  has  been  a  legacy  of  unpaid 
debts,  and  a  funeral  at  the  expense  of  their  friends. 

Journalists  in  the  Metropolis  are  more  poorly  paid, 
strange  to  say,  than  in  many  of  the  other  and  smaller 
cities.  The  best  of  them,  those  of  large  experience 
and  long  service,  rarely  receive  more  than  $30  or  $40 
a  week ;  while  the  price  for  reporters  is  $15  to  $25 — 
seldom  the  latter. 

A  few  men  are  compensated  liberally  ;  but  they  are 
well  known,  and  are  generally  paid  for  their  reputa- 
tion, or  because  they  have  proprietary  interests  in  the 
concern  to  which  they  belong.  Frederick  Hudson,  for- 
merly managing  editor  of  the  Herald^  received  $10,- 
000  a  year ;  but  he  had  grown  up  with  the  concern, 
and  he  broke  his  constitution  by  his  ceaseless  toil. 
Horace  Greeley's  salary  is  $7,500  as  editor-in-chief  of 
the  Tribune ;  but  he  is  its  founder  and  a  large  stock- 
holder, and  has  a  national  and  trans- Atlantic  reputa- 
tion. The  managing  editor  of  the  Tribune  has  $5,000 ; 
but  it  is  not  two  years  since  the  salary  was  raised  to 
that  figure ;  and  those  who  know  anything  of  the  mode 
in  which  a  man  in  such  a  position  in  a  stock  concern  is 
badgered  and  bedeviled,  will  willingly  testify  that 
the  price  is  not  extraordinary. 

Most  of  the  New- York  sub-journalists  are  compelled, 
so  great  is  the  price  of  living,  and  such  the  smallness  of 
their  pay  here,  to  do  outside  work  to  make  both  ends 
meet.  When  one  has  to  pay  $2,000  for  a  respectable 
house  to  live  in,  and  gets  but  $1,400  to  $1,500  for  his 
services,  the  need  of  increased  exertion,  especially  if 


The  Weekly  Press.  317 

he  has  a  large  family,  is  not  altogether  undiscernable. 
In  consequence,  if  he  is  clever,  he  makes  a  sort  of 
galley-slave  of  himself,  and  does  the  labor  of  three  or 
four  ordinary  men.  He  contributes  to  the  magazines 
or  weeklies ;  corresponds  for  the  country  press ;  reads 
for  the  book-publishers ;  translates  from  the  German  or 
French  the  noticeable  works  in  those  languages,  and 
fills  up  his  leisure  hours  by  writing  a  comedy  or  a 
novel,  for  which  he  receives  a  few  hundred  dollars  and 
all  kinds  of  abuse. 

The  New- York  journalist  is  fortunate  if  he  has  the 
ability  and  industry  to  do  all  this,  and  more  fortunate 
if  he  has  the  opportunity ;  for  the  Metropolis  is  over- 
crowded with  writers  of  every  description,  impecuni- 
ous litterateurs^  broken-down  scribblers,  and  unsuc- 
cessful authors. 

You  can  engage  men  here  to  compose  an  epic,  a 
tragedy,  or  a  romance ;  indite  an  ode,  a  sonnet,  or  a 
madrigal;  waste  ink  and  paper  on  any  subject,  for 
much  less  than  you  could  an  attorney's  clerk  to  copy 
the  same  things.  Talent,  learning,  and  even  genius, 
if  you  will  permit  the  great  unappreciated  to  place 
their  own  estimate  upon  themselves,  are  more  common 
here  than  scandal  in  boarding-houses,  or  bad  morals  in 
French  novels. 

At  any  rate,  the  supply  of  writers  of  ability  and 
culture,  is  much  greater  here  than  the  demand ;  and 
there  is  no  commoner  mistake  than  for  young  men  who 
have  a  suspicion,  shared  by  few  others,  that  they  are 
among  the  intellectually  elect,  to  imagine  New- York 
needs  them,  and  is  suffering  from  their  absence.  If  any 
such  are  doing  well  where  they  are,  there  let  them 
remain. 


318 


The  Great  Metropolis. 


This  great  City  is  overcrowded,  overburthened, 
over-supplied.  There  are  vain  and  egotistic  dullards 
enough  here  now,  ill-fated  fellows  who  live  by  wits 
none  too  bright  before  they  were  overstrained,  and 
who  will  go  down  to  their  graves  with  the  conviction 
that  the  World  would  not  recognize  their  gifts.  Do 
not  increase  the  number,  my  self-sufficient  brothers  of 
the  quill.  Stay  at  home,  and  go  to  Heaven  in  your 
own  quiet  way  ;  and  remember  that  he  who  tells  you 
so  speaks  by  the  card,  and  styles  himself,  with  the  char- 
acteristic egotism  of  his  egotistic  class,  sometimes  Sir 
Oracle,  and  sometimes  yours  truly. 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 
WILLIAM    B.    ASTOR. 

William  B.  Astor  is  a  very  noticeable  exception  to 
the  rule  that  the  sons  of  rich  men  squander  what  their 
fathers  spent  their  lives  in  earning.  Economy  and 
thrift  are  hereditary  virtues  in  the  Astors,  and  the 
immense  wealth  that  old  John  Jacob  accumulated  is 
likely  to  remain  in  the  family  for  generations. 

William  B.  Astor's  life  is  little,  but  his  property  is 
great.  His  chief  distinction  is  that  he  is  John  Jacob 
Astor's  son.  As  such  he  is  known  ;  as  such  he  will 
be  remembered.  If  it  require,  as  has  been  claimed,  as 
much  capacity  to  take  care  of  money  as  to  make  it, 
then  the  son  is  equal  to  the  father.  William  B.  has 
been  preserved  by  his  temperament  from  all  extrava- 
gances and  excesses.  He  has  the  cool  head  and  calm 
blood  of  his  German  ancestors,  to  whom  irregularity 
was  unknown  and  temptation  impossible. 

Associated  in  business  with  his  father  from  his  early 
years,  he  learned  his  habits  and  followed  his  example. 
The  power  and  benefit  of  money  being  one  of  the  first 
things  he  was  taught,  it  is  not  strange  he  has  remem- 
bered his  early  lesson  through  all  his  years.  Instead 
of  diminishing  the  wealth  he  inherited,  he  has  largely 
increased  it,  and  has  been  for  years  the  richest  citizen 
of  the   United  States.     He   is   as   careful  of  his  vast 


320  Ths  Great  Metropolis. 

property  as  if  he  were  not  worth  a  hundred  dollars  ; 
and  to-day,  in  his  seventy-sixth  year,  he  takes  more 
note  of  a  trifling  expenditure  than  a  clerk  whose  an- 
nual salary  is  not  much  beyond  his  hourly  income. 

Every  one  knows  how  John  Jacob  Astor,  at  the  age 
of  twenty,  left  his  village  home  in  Baden,  so  poor  that 
he  walked  to  the  nearest  seaport,  with  a  small  bundle, 
containing  all  his  worldly  goods ;  spent  his  last  penny 
for  a  passage  in  the  steerage ;  sailed  for  New-York 
and  would  have  arrived  here  with  nothing  but  youth 
and  health,  had  he  not  sold  on  the  voyage  half  a  dozen 
flutes  given  him  by  his  brother  in  London.  For  the 
flutes  he  received  twelve  dollars,  and  having  made  the 
acquaintance  of  a  furrier  on  board  the  ship,  and  talked 
with  him  about  the  trade,  he  invested  his  small  capital, 
on  debarking,  in  furs.  From  that  small  beginning  he 
steadily  and  rapidly  rose,  until  he  founded  the  Ameri- 
can Fur  Company,  sent  his  ships  to  every  sea,  and 
died  worth  $50,000,000. 

But  few  know  how  William,  the  son,  has,  during 
the  twenty  years  since  his  father's  death,  devoted  him- 
self constantly  to  swell  the  fortune,  whose  income  is 
more  than  any  one  man  should  have.  He  has  little 
life  outside  of  his  mortgages  and  investments,  and  at 
an  age  when  most  good  citizens  are  sleeping  quietly  in 
their  graves,  indifferent  to  securities  or  titles,  he  is 
hard  at  work  in  his  back  office  closing  every  crevice 
through  which  a  dollar  might  slip. 

Many  persons  wonder  why  men  of  great  fortune 
continue  to  labor,  instead  of  resting  and  enjoying  them-; 
selves,  and  attribute  it  to  mere  love  of  gain.  They  do 
not  remember  that  long  habit  becomes  second  nature ; 
that  such  men  find  rest  in  constant  occupation,  and 


William  B.  AstOR.  321 

that  the  enjoyment  prescribed  for  them  would  be  the 
severest  punishment  that  could  be  inflicted. 

For  more  than  fifty  years  William  B.  Astor  has  been 
a  daily  worker  at  his  desk.  .  Sentence  him  to  idleness 
to-morrow,  and  before  the  Christmas  chimes  were  rung 
from  Trinity,  the  family  lot  in  Greenwood  would  have 
another  occupant. 

Astor  was  born  in  a  small  brick  house,  built  by  his 
father,  and  occupied  as  a  fur  store,  but  long  since  torn 
down,  at  the  corner  of  Broadway  and  Yesey — the  site 
of  the  present  Astor  House.  He  has  seen  wonderful 
changes  in  the  City  and  the  World.  When  he  was  a 
babe  New-York  had  a  population  of  not  more  than 
thirty  thousand  souls;  our  Revolution  had  just  ended  ; 
George  Washington  was  still  alive  ;  Thomas  Jefferson 
was  President  of  the  United  States ;  Bonaparte  was  un- 
known; Frederic  the  Great  had  very  recently  died;  the 
French  Revolution  was  thrilling  the  time  with  horror ; 
Yesey  street  was  in  the  country ;  Bowling  Green  the 
centre  of  trade  ;  Wall  street  and  its  vicinity  the  quar- 
ter for  fashionable  residences,  and  the  Republic  itself 
a  handful  of  feeble  States  that  were  still  suffering  from 
the  struggle  that  had  given  them  their  independence. 

Astor  was  carefully  educated  by  his  father,  and  after 
leaving  college,  traveled  in  Europe,  where,  it  is  said, 
he  spent  less  than  a  quarter  of  what  his  parent  had  al- 
lowed him.  After  his  return  he  went  into  business 
with  John  Jacob,  and  became  more  watchful  of  his  in- 
terests and  his  money  than  the  old  man  himself,  who 
was  never  accused  of  any  extraordinary  carelessness 
in  that  respect.  Though  presumptive  heir  to  a  great 
estate  he  lost  no  opportunity  to  look  out  for  himself, 
and,  at  his  father's  decease,  was  individually  worth 

21 


322  The  Great  Metropolis. 

$6,000,000.  He  is  declared,  by  those  wlio  ought  to 
know,  to  be  less  liberal  than  his  father — no  spendthrift 
bj  any  means — and  a  man  of  less  kindly  feeling  and 
less  generous  sympathy.  He  is  reported  to  be  very  • 
charitable  on  occasions ;  but  he  rarely  gives  to  those 
who  solicit  charity,  and  his  brusque  refusal  of  the  con- 
stant petitioners  for  assistance  of  all  kinds  through  a 
series  of  years  has  earned  for  him  the  reputation  of  ex- 
treme closeness,  if  not  penuriousness.  To  common 
beggars  and  seekers  for  subscriptions  he  turns  a  deaf 
ear,  and  the  fact  is  now  so  well  known  that  he  escapes 
much  of  the  annoyance  to  which  accessible  rich  men 
are  perpetually  subjected.  He  makes  it  a  rule,  I  have 
been  told,  never  to  give  anything  during  the  hours  of 
business,  and  always  to  investigate  any  and  every 
case  earnestly  brought  to  his  notice.  If  he  finds  it 
worthy,  he  is  reasonably  liberal,  but  privately  so,  hav- 
ing no  ambition  to  gain  a  reputation  that  would  prove 
troublesome,  not  to  say  expensive. 

I  have  no  reason  to  doubt  this ;  indeed  I  am  inclined'  J 
to  believe  it ;  for  many  persons  give  from  their  vanity, 
while  others  who  are  silently  charitable  pass  for  the 
very  opposite  in  public  opinion. 

Still  Astor  cannot  be  regarded  as  a  liberal  man, 
considering  his  immense  wealth  and  the  superabund- 
ant opportunities  it  gives  him  for  doing  good  in  his 
native  city,  where  the  Greeks  are  ever  at  his  own  door. 
Of  course  he  has  a  perfect  right  to  do  as  he  chooses 
with  his  own.  He  knows  that,  too,  and  follows  his 
humor. 

The  public  is  very  exacting  of  the  wealthy,  wh( 
are  roundly  abused  when  they  decline  to  open  theii 
purses  as  it  directs.     They  are  so  besieged  and  bad- 


William  B.  Astor.  323 

gered  with  applicants  and  applications,  so  imposed  on 
and  cajoled,  that  it  is  not  strange  thej  grow  callous. 
Even  Astor  and  Stewart,  if  they  responded  to  all  the 
calls  upon  them  for  aid,  would  be  beggared  in  a 
twelvemonth.  But  there  is  so  little  probability  of 
their  responding  that  it  is  not  needful  to  expend  any 
sympathy  in  anticipation. 

Astor's  office  is  in  Prince  street  near  Broadway,  a 
one-story  brick,  with  heavy  shutters,  reminding  you  of 
a  village  bank.  The  office  has  two  rooms,  and  he  oc- 
cupies the  rear  one,  very  plainly,  even  meagerly,  fur- 
nished, which  he  enters  punctually  every  morning  at 
ten*  o'clock,  rarely  leaving  his  desk  before  four  in  the 
afternoon.  He  is  not  shut  away  as  Stewart  is.  His 
back  can  be  seen  by  any  one  entering  the  office,  and 
any  one  can  step  in  and  see  his  face  also,  if  he  be  so 
minded.  To  those  who  pay  him  a  visit  he  is  so  chary 
of  words  as  to  seem  impolite. 

He  usually  waits  to  be  addressed,  but  if  he  is  not,  he 
turns  a  cold  face  upon  the  visitor,  and  says,  "Your 
business,  sir." 

If  it  be  an  application  for  charity,  in  nine  cases  out 
of  ten  he  cuts  off  the  story  before  it  is  half  told,  with 
"  I  can  do  nothing  for  you,  sir,"  and  resumes  his  work. 

If  it  is  an  application  for  reduction  of  rent  or  for 
the  sale  of  property,  he  generally  answers  "No,  sir," 
and  relapses  into  silence,  from  which  it  is  difficult  to 
arouse  him. 

If  he  is  annoyed  by  further  speech,  he  says  curtly : 
"I  am  busy:  I  have  no  time  to  talk;"  and  there  the 
interview  ends.  Few  persons  feel  encouraged  to  stay 
in  his  presence,  which  to  strangers,  is  no  more  invit- 
ing than  the  Morgue  at  midnight,  or  a  tombstone  on  a 
Winter's  day. 


324  The  Great  Metropolis. 

Astor  has  none  of  his  father's  liking  for  trade.  lie 
deals  altogether  in  real  estate  and  in  leases  of  property 
owned  by  Trinity  Church.  He  has  a  wonderful  mem- 
ory. He  can  tell  every  square  foot  of  property  he 
owns,  the  exact  date  at  which  each  lease  expires,  and 
the  amount  due  on  it  to  a  penny.  He  very  rarely  sells 
any  of  his  property  ;  but  he  is  buying  constantly,  and 
will  be  to  his  dying  day,  though  it  cannot  be  many 
years  before  he  will  be  obliged  to  exchange  all  his 
valuable  sites  and  acres  for  a  three-by-seven  lot  in  a 
corner  of  Long  Island.  He  scarcely  ever  improves 
any  of  his  real  estate.  He  buys  it  for  an  advance,  and 
lets  it  go  only  when  he  thinks  it  has  reached  its  max- 
imum rate. 

Astor  lives  at  No.  32  Lafayette  place,  in  a  handsome 
though  somewhat  old-fashioned,  brick  house,  adjoining 
the  Astor  Library.  His  residence  was  built  for  and 
given  to  him  by  his  father.  Most  fashionable  and 
wealthy  people  have  moved  up  town,  but  he  is  con- 
servative, averse  to  change,  and  will  breathe  his  last 
under  that  roof  He  is  temperate  in  all  things,  and  has 
always  taken  excellent  care  of  his  health.  He  likes  a 
good  dinner  however,  and  a  bottle  of  wine,  and  sits 
long  at  table.  His  is  not  a  very  sociable  or  gregarious 
nature,  but  he  gives  elaborate  dinner  parties,  and  often 
has  company  at  his  house.  As  an  entertainer  few  sur- 
pass him.  On  a  social  occasion  his  plate  is  the  most 
massive,  his  viands  the  costliest,  and  his  wines  the 
richest  to  be  found  in  New- York.  ■ 

He  is  very  fond  of  walking,  going  from  his  home  to  * 
his  office  and  back  almost  invariably  on  foot.     He  is 
a  tall  man,  fully  six  feet,  of  heavy  frame,  large  and 
rather  coarse  features,  small  eyes,  cold  and  sluggish- 


William  B.  Astor.  325 

looking,  mucli  more  German  than  American,  nothing 
distinguished  or  noticeable  about  him,  whom  no  one 
would  suppose  as  old  as  he  is  by  at  least  fifteen  years. 
He  has  a  strong  constitution  and  is  in  vigorous  health, 
and  may  see  his  hundredth  birthday.  He  has 
two  sons,  John  Jacob  and  William  B.  Astor,  Jr., 
both  of  whom  are  as  close  applicants  to  business  as 
their  father,  and  several  daughters,  all  married  to 
wealthy  gentlemen.  Mrs.  Astor  who  is  the  daughter 
of  General  Armstrong,  James  Madison's  Secretary  of 
War,  is  a  woman  of  culture  and  accomplishments,  and 
lends  grace  and  dignity  to  her  husband's  hospitality. 

William  B.  Astor's  wealth  cannot  be.  accurately  de- 
termined. He  does  not  know  himself ;  but  it  is 
probably  $65,000,000,  or  $70,000,000,  perhaps  $80,- 
000,000  or  $90,000,000.  It  increases  largely  every 
year  by  reason  of  the  advance  in  property,  and  may 
nearly  double  in  value  before  his  death.  His  income 
is  greatly  disproportioned  to  his  fortune,  because  he 
owns  such  a  large  amount  of  unproductive  real  estate. 
He  has  much  property  that  even  his  sons  know  nothing 
of,  and,  like  his  father,  seems  unwilling  to  have  any  one 
understand  the  immensity  of  his  riches.  It  is  said 
he  is  very  anxious  to  live  to  see  how  many  of  his  in- 
vestments will  turn  out;  but  at  seventy-six  that 
rare  pleasure  can  not  be  much  longer  enjoyed. 


CHAPTER    XXXYI. 
THE     CON  CERT -SALOONS. 

Concert-saloons,  with  pretty  "waiter-girl"  attach- 
ments, which  have  of  late  years  become  so  discreditably 
popular  in  the  various  cities  of  the  Union,  had  their 
origin  and  earliest  impetus  here.  They  are  particu- 
larly adapted  to  the  large,  loose,  fluctuating,  cosmopo- 
litan life  of  New- York,  and  represent  in  a  strikingly 
unfavorable  light  some  of  the  worst  elements  in  the 
great  commercial  and  social  centre  of  the  Republic. 

During  the  present  year,  the  concert-saloons  have 
perceptibly  diminished  in  the  City,  though  there  are 
yet  many  more  than  any  one  would  suppose  the  idle 
and  profligate  among  the  million  and  a  half  of  people 
in  this  vicinity  would  or  could  support.  It  is  but  a 
few  years  since  the  first  concert-saloons  were  opened 
in  Broadway  and  the  Bowery,  and  they  at  once  found 
patrons  innumerable.  Their  illuminated  transparen- 
cies, their  tawdry  display,  their  jangling  music,  their 
painted  and  bedizened  wantons — such  is  public  taste 
— made  them  immediate  pecuniary  successes.  Their; 
bad  example  was  contagious.  They  sprang  up,  im-] 
moral  mushroons,  all  over  town ;  and,  in  less  than  twelve 
months  from  the  time  the  first  one  showed  its  hydral 
head,  four  or  five  hundred  of  the  establishments  assist- 


The  Concert-Saloons.  327 

ed  to  corrupt  the  most  frequertted  quarters  of  the  Me- 
tropolis. 

Their  number  has  been  as  high  as  six  hundred,  and 
they  have  given  degraded  and  degrading  employment 
to  three  or  four  thousand  young  women. 

Since  the  passage  of  the  Excise  Law,  many  of  the 
concert-saloons  have  closed;  but  a  large  number  re- 
main open,  pretending  to  sell  nothing  but  "temper- 
ance drinks," — thereby  escaping  the  clause  that  forbids 
the  granting  of  license  to  dispose  of  spirituous  or  malt 
liquors.  Even  this  assumed  restriction  is  one  of  the 
moral  spasms  with  which  New- York  is  periodically 
visited,  and  which  usually  react  for  the  worse.  It  has 
no  other  effect  than  to  draw  the  curtain  before  evils 
that  will  not  be  repressed,  and  to  add  to  other  vices 
the  compulsory  one  of  hypocrisy. 

The  patrons  of  concert-saloons  are  mainly  strangers, 
— country  people,  as  it  is  the  fashion  here  to  call  all 
persons  living  outside  of  New- York, — though  not  a  few 
of  our  resident  citizens  contribute  to  their  support  in 
more  ways  than  one.  One  would  suppose  that  the 
customers  of  the  saloons  were  very  young  men,  mere 
boys,  whose  follies  and  foibles  are  to  be  leniently  re- 
garded on  account  of  their  immaturity  and  inexperience. 
It  is  not  so,  however.  Men  of  middle  and  old  age  are 
often  found  among  the  regular  attendants,  and  the 
most  devoted  admirers  of  the  unchaste  nymphs  who 
pour  libations  to  Yenus  and  Bacchus  from  the  same 
satyr-shaped  chalice. 

Men  from  every  grade  of  life  visit  the  concert^sa- 
loons:  many  from  curiosity,  and  more  from  a  relish  of 
what  they  find  there.  The  laborer  and  mechanic,  the 
salesman  and  accountant,  the  bank-clerk  and  merchant, 


328  The  Great  Metropolis. 

all  meet  in  the  subterranean  dens,  and  guzzle  in  secret 
lager-beer  and  poisonous  liquors,  and  philander  with 
the  libidinous  Hebes  with  a  zest  that  is  surprising. 

The  concert-saloons  'differ  in  their  size  and  appoint- 
ments, as  much  as  they  do  in  the  appearance  of  the 
attendants  and  the  character  of  the  habitues.  Some  of 
them,  like  the  Louvre  and  Oriental,  are  handsomely 
fitted  up  and  furnished,  and  have  a  certain  kind  of 
order  and  decorum.  The  waiter-girls  are  gaudily  at- 
tired, and  have  some  pretensions  to  comeliness  and 
propriety  of  conduct.  The  masculine  visitors  are  of 
the  best  species  of  patrons  of  such  places — generally 
sober,  well-dressed,  and  tolerably  well-behaved.  The 
first-class  saloons  are  in  Broadway,  albeit  many  of  them 
in  that  great  thoroughfare  are  of  a  very  degraded 
kind;  but  the  worst  are  in  William  street,  Chatham 
street  and  the  Bowery. 

The  latter  description  discard  the  form  of  decency 
to  a  great  extent.  The  men  swear  and  talk  obscenely 
in  loud  voices;  drink  to  excess;  leer,  and  roar,  and 
stagger,  and  bestow  rude  caresses  on  the  women,  and 
are  thrust  violently  into  the  street  when  they  have  lost 
their  senses  and  spent  their  money.  The  women  are 
coarse  and  sensual  in  form  and  feature,  lascivious  in 
conduct,  rude  and  harsh  of  speech,  degraded  in  feeling, 
outcast  in  society.  The  proprietors  are  generally  be- 
sotted ruffians,  doomed  to  die  in  a  drunken  fit  or  a 
drunken  brawl, — fellows  conceived  in  sin,  reared  in 
iniquity,  and  predestined  to  the  penitentiaries. 

The  concert-soloons  do  little,  and  expect  to  do  little,] 
during  the  day.     At  night  is  their  harvest ;  and  all  th( 
poetry  of  the  night  is  needed  to  relieve  the  excessivel 
prose  of  such  haunts  and  habits.     When  the  gas  flares,^ 


I 


The  Concert-Saloons.  329 

and  the  tinsel  glitters,  and  the  paint  hides,  and  the 
chemical  decoctions  sensualize  and  stupefy,  vice  is 
robbed  of  half  its  grossness,  and  delicacy  and  reason 
of  all  their  instincts. 

Soon  after  the  great  stores  of  Broadway  are  closed 
and  bolted;  when  down-town  is  partially  deserted; 
when  New- York  has  dined,  and  is  determining  how  to 
pass  the  evening  most  pleasantly,  the  concert-saloons 
reveal  their  fascinations  for  the  idle  and  unwary.  Then 
the  transparencies  blaze,  and  large  black  and  red  let- 
ters inform  promenaders  and  loungers  where  fine  mu- 
sical entertainments  may  be  had  gratis;  where  the 
prettiest  waiter-girls  in  the  City  may  be  seen ;  where 
the  greatest  and  cheapest  pleasure  may  be  enjoyed. 

Up  from  basements  that  have  been  quiet  and  unob- 
served all  day  long  come  the  sound  of  boisterous 
music,  and  the  noise  of  many  voices,  too  loud  for 
gayety  and  too  discordant  for  sobriety.  If  you  have 
nothing  to  do — for  leisure  is  the  parent  of  mischief — 
or  if  you  are  a  stranger,  you  feel  an  idle  curiosity  to 
look  into  the  underground  abode;  and  you  do,  pro- 
bably. 

You  descend  the  steps,  and  are  in  a  vast  hall  filled 
with  small  tables,  at  which  men  and  women  are  seated, 
chattering  like  monkeys  and  drinking  like  doves.  On 
one  side  of  the  room  is  a  bar,  behind  which  half  a 
dozen  or  more  bar-keepers  are  filling  the  orders  of  the 
waiter-girls  with  careless  celerity.  On  a  raised  plat- 
form at  the  lower  end  of  the  hall  is  a  group  of  musi- 
cians, playing  vociferously  out  of  tune,  and  fortifying 
their  wasted  powers  with  frequent  fluids. 

Throughout  the  place  is  a  rattling  of  glasses,  a  chaos 
of  voices,  a  cloud  of  tobacco  'smoke,  an  odor  of  bad 


330  The  Great  Metropolis. 

beer,  a  discord  of  instruments,  with  a  sense  of  heat, 
impurity  and  debauchery,  that  repels  and  shocks  you 
at  first. 

If  this  do  not  drive  you  out  at  once,  you  gradually 
become  accustomed  to  it.  One  of  the  waiter-girls — 
what  bitter  irony  it  is  to  call  most  of  them  "pretty !" — 
approaches,  and  proffers  her  services.  She  tells  you 
that  so  good-looking  and  nice  a  gentleman  ought  not 
to  be  alone,  or  go  without  a  drink ;  informs  you  she 
will  take  something  with  you,  and  keep  you  company. 

Without  more  words,  she  brings  from  the  bar  a  glass 
of  beer  or  liquor,  and  places  herself  at  your  side ;  asks 
you  if  you  like  women ;  invites  you  to  visit  her  when 
she  is  at  home;  perhaps  grants  you  permission  to  es- 
cort her  from  the  saloon — though,  if  she  do  this,  you 
may  conclude  you  have  a  verdant  and  rustic  air,  and 
do  not  seem  a  bit  like  a  New-Yorker. 

If  the  experience  be  new,  you  may  wish  to  see  what 
will  come  of  it  all.  You  drink  the  contents  of  the 
glass  before  you,  and  call  for  a  cigar.  Then  you  have 
another  drink,  and  another,  and  another.  The  nepen- 
the that  the  wife  of  Thone  gave  to  Jove-born  Helena 
seems  in  the  glass.  Everything  is  metamorphosed  as 
if  you  had  been  reading  Ovid.  The  scene  of  repul- 
sion is  replaced  by  one  of  attraction,  almost  of  fascina- 
tion. 

The  music  is  no  longer  strident  and  odious.  The 
tones  of  your  attendant  Circe  change.  They  appear 
soft,  and  low,  and  sweet ;  and  her  once  harsh  face 
grows  lovely  in  the  glamour  before  your  eyes.  The 
tawdry  hall  become^  a  place  of  enchantment.  You 
wonder  you  did  not  visit  long  before  such  a  palace  of 
delights.     You  call  for -more  liquor.     You  sing;  you 


The  Concert  Saloons.  331 

dance ;  you  are  happy.  You  whisper  tenderly  to  the 
nymph  at  your  side,  as  if  she  were  Urania  and  you 
Strephon,  in  the  midst  of  a  new  Arcadia.  Then  ob- 
jects and  sounds  grow  confused.  There  is  a  floating, 
swimming  motion  before  your  eyes,  a  feeling  of  irre- 
sistible drowsiness  and  languor,  and  soon  complete 
oblivion. 

Your  consciousness  is  restored;  and  there  is  a  vio- 
lent pain  in  your  head,  and  a  burning  heat  in  your 
throat.  You  have  no  idea  where  you  are,  or  what  has 
passed,  or  how  much  time  has  sped  since  you  lost  your 
reason  and  your  senses.  You  may  lie  in  the  station- 
house,  or  in  your  own  room,  or  in  a  strange  one,  of 
which  I  will  not  tell,  because  I  know  you  would  not 
like  to  tell  yourself 

When  you  rise,  and  look  about  you,  you  find  yon 
have  no  money.  Your  foolish  experience  has  cost  you 
something ;  but  you  have  learned  your  lesson  cheaply 
if  you  will  only  profit  by  it.  You  are  repentant,  as 
punished  men  always  are;  and  you  walk  confusedly 
into  the  street,  if  you  happen  to  be  at  liberty,  with  all 
your  future  compassed  by  a  bottle  of  Seltzer  water. 

At  some  of  the  saloons — the  very  lowest — customers 
are  systematically  robbed,  and  beaten  if  they  resist. 
But  generally,  at  such  places,  their  drink  is  drugged, 
and  they  are  non-combative  victims.  At  the  best  of 
the  saloons,  you  are  defrauded  of  your  change,  unless 
you  be  on  the  alert,  and  every  effort  is  made  by  the 
waiter-girls  to  render  you  intemperate  in  passion  as 
well  as  thirst.  You  cannot  go  often  to  the  best  con- 
ducted music-halls  without  a  diminution  of  your  self- 
esteem  which  makes  temptation  strong  and  seduction 
easy. 


332  The  Great  Metropolis. 

The  waiter-girls  are  more  to  be  pitied  than  despised. 
They  are  frequently  drawn  to  this  vocation  by  lack  of 
employment,  and  the  impossibility  of  obtaining  it  else- 
where. They  come  mostly  from  the  country,  and  are 
often  virtuous  when  they  enter  the  saloons.  But  they 
cannot  continue  so.  The  strongest  of  our  sex,  and  the 
purest  of  theirs  cannot  resist  temptation  and  circum- 
stance beyond  a  certain  point.  And  how  can  they, 
with  nothing  to  restrain  and  everything  to  compel 
them  ? 

Yet  the  waiter-girls  have  virtues,  if  not  the  (consid- 
ered) cardinal  one.  Strange  anomaly  to  those  who  do 
not  understand  what  a  mixture  of  good  and  evil  hu- 
man nature  is,  waiter-girls  not  seldom  support  aged 
mothers,  and  educate  younger  brothers  and  sisters,  by 
the  wages  of  sin  and  the  saloons. 

They  have  aspirations,  doubtless,  for  a  better  life, — 
for  a  higher  sphere.  But  the  World  frowns,  and  So- 
ciety rejects  them.  They  could  not  do  otherwise  if 
they  would.  So  they  must  wait  until  the  grave  makes 
all  things  even  by  making  all  things  forgotten. 


CHAPTER  XXXYII. 
CORNELIUS    VANDERBILT. 

Men  like  Stewart,  Astor  and  Yanderbilt,  who  either 
make  or  manage  great  fortunes,  are  little  inclined  to 
sentiment,  and,  therefore,  rarely  popular.  Such  men 
are  doers,  not  savers,  and  speech  attracts  more  than 
conduct.  They  are  so  practical  of  necessity,  so  ab- 
sorbed in  their  own  affairs,  that  they  have  little  time 
or  sympathy  to  give  to  the  great  mass  that  does  not  in 
any  way  affect  their  interests. 

Cornelius  Yanderbilt  is  a  man  of  power,  unques- 
tionably. Many  fear,  but  few  love  him ;  nor  has  his 
course  been  such  as  to  endear  him  to  any  very  largo- 
number  of  people.  Through  nearly  half  a  century  hs 
has  employed  his  extraordinary  energy,  tact  and  man- 
aging force  to  the  advancement  of  his  own  pecuniary 
interests,  never  slacking  exertion  or  sparing  toil  in  tha 
accumulation  of  a  colossal  fortune,  whose  income  he 
cannot  and  will  not  use. 

Cornelius  Yanderbilt  is,  as  his  name  indicates,  a  de- 
scendant of  the  early  Dutch  settlers,  and  inherits  from 
them  the  industry  and  thrift  that  have  been  large- 
ly instrumental  in  securing  him  his  superabundant 
riches.  He  is  altogether  a  self-made  man,  his  origin 
being  humble  and  his  education  neglected.     He  was 


334  The  Grr.vt  Metropolis. 

born  in  1794,  on  Staten  Island,  his  father  being  a 
farmer,  who  tilled  a  lot  of  ground  for  the  purpose  of 
supplying  the  New- York  market — an  undertaking  in 
which  he  thrived.  The  elder  Yanderbilt,  in  carrying 
his  products  to  the  City,  began  to  take  passengers  who 
had  no  boats  of  their  own,  and  in  due  season  became 
a  regular  ferryman.  His  perriauger  made  one  round 
trip  a  day,  and  he  prospered  more  by  it  than  by  his 
farming. 

To  the  ferry  between  the  island  and  New-York, 
Cornelius  succeeded  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  having 
shown  such  a  marked  and  unconquerable  dislike  of 
books  and  the  restraints  of  school,  that  his  parents  de- 
spaired of  his  education.  He  was  ignorant  of  the 
common  rudiments,  and  was  unable  to  determine,  in 
his  twentieth  year,  whether  his  name  should  be  spelled 
with  a  W  or  a  Y.  He  had  an  instinct,  however,  for 
arithmetic  and  calculation,  and  knew  what  a  dollar 
stood  for  as  well  as  any  boy  in  the  country.  He  was 
soon  the  owner  of  a  perriauger  himself,  and  developed 
a  remarkable  capacity  to  make  money,  which  has 
grown  with  his  growth  and  strengthened  Avith  his 
strength.  He  proved  himself  an  excellent  judge  of 
human  nature,  too,  so  far  as  trades  and  bargains  were 
concerned,  and  beyond  that  he  cared  nothing  for  it. 
In  his  eighteenth  year  he  was  the  owner  of  one  of  the 
largest  perriaugers  about  NcAV-York,  and  during  the 
war  of  1812  he  was  active  in  furnishing,  at  night,  the 
forts  near  the  City  with  supplies.  He  was  resolute  and 
courageous,  rarely  failing,  it  is  said,  to  keep  his  given 
word,  or  to  execute  any  commission,  however  hazard- 
ous, he  had  agreed  to  perform. 

In  his  nineteenth  year  he  married  Sophia  Johnson 


Cornelius  Yanderbii.t.  335 

— his  wife   died   very  recently — of  Port  Richmond, 
Stat  en  island,  and  removed  a  few  months  after  to  this 

City. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-three  he  had  saved  $10,000, 
considered  a  handsome  sum  in  those  days,  but  which 
he  regarded  nierely  as  a  basis  for  future  operations. 
Perceiving  the  great  advantage  that  must  result  to 
commerce  from  steam  power,  which  had  been  recently 
applied  to  navigation,  he  entered  the  service  of  Thomas 
Gibbons,  a  wealthy  New- York  capitalist,  then  engaged 
in  transporting  passengers  between  here  and  Philadel- 
phia. He  remained  with  Gibbons  twelve  years,  and 
manifested  such  shrewdness  and  energy — successfully 
evading  the  act  of  the  Legislature  forbidding  any  ves- 
sel to  enter  the  waters  of  the  State  without  license,  on 
the  pain  of  forfeiture — that  the  capitalist  was  unwilling 
to  dispense  with  his  invaluable  assistance.  Vanderbilt 
wished  to  be  his  own  master  again,  especially  as  he 
had  obtained  a  practical  knowledge  of  steam  naviga- 
tion, which  he  was  confident  he  could  turn  to  most 
profitable  account.  For  the  next  twenty-five  years  he 
did  little  else  than  build  steamboats  and  steamships, 
and  always  succeeded  by  having  better  and  faster  and 
cheaper  lines  than  his  competitors.  The  accommoda- 
tion of  the  public  was  always  made  subservient  to  the 
interest  of  Yanderbilt,  and  always  will  be;  for  he 
makes  no  secret  of  the  fact  that  he  is  his  own — I  will 
not  say  only — best  friend. 

In  1850  he  established  a  rival  line  of  steamships  to 
California,  by  Avay  of  Nicaragua ;  sold  it  out  to  advan- 
tage three  years  afterwards,  to  the  Transit  Company, 
and  became  the  president  of  the  company  in  1856. 

In  1855  he  went  to  Europe  with  his  family,  in  his 


336  The  Great  Metropolis. 

own  steamship,  the  North  Star — the  first  fitted  with  a 
beam  engine  that  ever  crossed  the  Atlantic — and  at- 
tracted much  attention  by  the  novelty  of  the  expedi- 
tion. After  his  return  he  built  a  number  of  ocean 
steamers  to  run  between  New- York  and  Liverpool, 
having  received  a  contract  to  carry  the*  mails  between 
the  two  countries.  One  of  the  vessels,  the  Yander- 
bilt,  made  the  fastest  time  ever  made,  and,  during  the 
War,  he  presented  it— it  cost  $800,000— to  the  Gov- 
ernment as  an  addition  to  the  navy.  The  act  was  offi- 
cially recognized  by  Congress,  and  is  very  noticeable 
as  something  the  "  Commodore"  was  not  expected  to 
do.  He  has  been  in  the  habit  of  supervising  all  the 
work  he  orders,  even  to  the  minutest  details,  and  never 
accepting  anything  that  does  not  suit  him.  He  has 
built  and  owned  more  than  a  hundred  vessels,  and  not 
one  of  them  has  been  lost  by  accident,  it  is  said,  which 
may  be  the  reason  of  his  constant  unwillingness  to  in- 
sure his  property. 

For  the  past  few  years  Yanderbilt  has  turned  his  at- 
tention to  railways,  and  has  shown  himself  as  admira- 
ble a  manager  on  land  as  on  water.  He  obtained 
possession  of  the  Harlem  in  1864,  and  from  a  merely 
fancy  stock,  paying  no  dividends,  it  has  been  made 
very  profitable.  He  gained  control  of  the  Hudson 
River  and  of  the  New-York  Central  also,  and  has  for 
months  been  striving  to  get  hold  of  the  Erie.  No 
doubt  it  would  be  for  the  interest  of  the  stockholders 
that  he  should  ;  but  the  public,  who  have  no  reason  to 
like  him,  are  opposed  to  his  monopolizing  all  the  rail- 
ways leading  out  of  the  City,  which  is  evidently  his 
ambition.  He  will  be  master  of  the  Erie  ere  long, 
though,  and  his  numerous  enemies  can  console  them- 


Cornelius  Yanderbilt.  337 

selves  with  tlie  utterance  of  the  Congressman  who 
thanked  God  that  men  couldn't  live  more  than  a  hun- 
dred years ;  that  if  they  could,  such  fellows  as  Yan- 
derbilt would  own  the  whole  World.  Before  another 
twelve  months  he  will,  probably,  control  railway  lines 
representing  an  invested  capital  of  $100,000,000. 

No  one  knows  how  much  Yanderbilt  is  worth,  but 
his  fortune  is  probably  not  less  than  $12,000,000  to 
$15,000,000,  some  rating  it  as  high  as  $20,000,000. 
He  is  the  railway  king  of  America,  and  the  great 
power  of  Wall  street.  Among  the  shrewd  he  is  the 
shrewdest ;  among  the  bears,  the  most  bearish  ;  among 
the  bulls,  the  most  bullish.  He  always  plays  to  win,, 
and  he  is  so  accurate  a  judge  of  men,  so  clear-sighted, 
so  fertile  of  resource,  so  skillful  an  organizer  of  com- 
binations, and  the  wielder  of  such  an  immense  capital, 
that  failure  is  next  to  impossible.  A  man  of  great 
nerve  and  determination,  entirely  self-confident  and 
self-sufficient,  with  half  a  century  of  training  in  the 
school  of  financial  selfishness,  able  to  draw  his  check 
at  any  moment  for  millions,  he  is  a  foe  even  Wall 
street  stands  in  awe  of 

Yanderbilt  has  an  office  in  Fourth  Street,  and  con- 
ducts his  immense  business  as  easily  as  if  it  embraced 
only  a  few  hundreds.  He  goes  to  Wall  street  every 
day,  but  his  work  is  usually  done  in  four  or  five  hours. 
He  is  a  passionate  lover  of  horses,  has  half  a  dozen  of 
the  fastest  trotters  in  the  country  in  his  stables,  and 
would  give  $25,000  to  $50,000  any  time  for  any  of  the 
famous  animals  he  has  long  coveted.  The  way  to 
the  Commodore's  heart  lies  through  the  stable,  and 
two  or  three  of  his  favorites  have  reached  it  by  that 

road. 

22 


338  The  Great  Metropolis 

Every  pleasant  afternoon  lie  can  be  seen  driving  in 
the  Park,  and  he  enjoys  it  as  a  youth  with  his  first 
horse  might.  He  is  a  good  liver ;  but  is  too  discreet, 
too  careful  of  his  health  to  become  the  victim  of  the 
larder  or  the  wine  cellar.  He  enjoys  a  woodcock .  or 
Spanish  mackerel,  a  pate  de  foie  gras  or  saddle  of  ven- 
ison, a  rare  old  bottle  of  Burgundy  or  Yeuve  Clicquot ; 
but  he  has  never  suffered  from  the  dyspepsia  or  the 
gout.  He  is  hale,  hearty,  and,  though  nearly  an  octo- 
genarian, younger  than  many  men  with  half  his  years, 
so. ruddy,  erect  and  vigorous  that  few  would  believe 
him  beyond  the  prime  of  life. 

He  has  a  strong,  expressive  face,  and  his  clear  com- 
plexion, aquiline  nose,  strong  frame  and  clear-cut  stat- 
ure of  six  feet,  entitle  him  to  the  reputation  of  a  hand- 
some old  man.  He  certainly  enjoys  himself.  His  life 
is  divided  between  railways,  horses  and  whist,  of  which 
last  he  is  a  devotee,  playing  almost  every  evening 
with  a  zest  that  never  tires.  Talleyrand  said  to  a 
young  man  who  did  not  know  whist,  "  Alas !  my  friend, 
what  an  unhappy  old  age  is  before  you !  "  Yander- 
bilt  has  provided  against  that,  and  when  his  partner  re- 
turns his  lead,  and  isn't  afraid  of  trumps,  his  evenings 
are  blessed. 

Seventy-four,  and  worth  millions,  Cornelius  Yander- 
bilt,  at  least,  has  a  large  family  to  leave  them  to,  and 
when  the  thin  gentleman  who  is  supposed  to  ride  on  a 
pale  horse,  calls  upon  him,  he  will  ask  what  time  the 
steed  can  make,  and  go  along  satisfied  if  he  can  do  a 
mile  inside  of  Dexter's  best. 


I 


CHAPTER    XXXYni. 
BROADWAY. 

Broadway  is  New- York  intensified, — the  reflex  of 
the  Republic, — hustling,  feverish,  crowded,  ever  chang- 
ing. 

Broadway  is  hardly  surpassed  by  any  street  in  the 
World.  It  is  cosmoramic  and  cosmopolitan.  In  its 
vast  throng,  individuality  is  lost,  and  the  race  only  is 
remembered.  All  nations,  all  conditions,  all  phases  of 
life  are  represented  there.  Like  nature,  it  never 
cloys ;  for  it  is  always  varying,  always  new. 

A  walk  through  Broadway  is  like  a  voyage  round 
the  Globe ;  and  to  the  student  of  humanity  it  is  inter- 
esting every  day  and  every  hour  of  the  seasons.  For 
years  I  have  floated  up  and  down  its  regular  tides,  and 
yet  it  is  fresh  to-day  as  it  was  in  early  childhood.  Its 
gaudiness  and  frippery  no  longer  attract,  but  its  human 
interest  grows  and  expands. 

No  thoroughfare  in  the  country  so  completely  repre- 
sents its  wealth,  its  enterprise,  its  fluctuations,  and  its 
progress.  Broadway  is  always  being  built,  but  it  is 
never  finished.  The  structures  that  were  deemed 
stately  and  magnificent  a  few  years  ago  are  constantly 
disappearing,  and  new  and  more  splendid  ones  are 
rising  in  their  places. 

Wood  has  yielded  to  brick,  brick  to  stone,  and  stone 


340  The  Great  Metropolis. 

to  marble.  Before  the  next  decade  has  jDassed,  Broad- 
way is  likely  to  glitter  in  continuous  marble  from  the 
Battery  to  Madison  Square ;  and,  ere  the  century  is 
ended,  it  promises  to  be  the  most  splendid  street,  archi- 
tecturally, on  either  side  of  the  Atlantic. 

The  rent  of  one  of  its  ordinary  stores  is  a  princely 
income,  and  its  cost  exhausts  a  liberal  fortune.  Pov- 
erty is  rigorously  excluded  from  its  imposing  confines, 
and  pecuniary  success  alone  is  recognized  by  its  state- 
ly piles.  Trade  must  of  necessity  thrive  there.  If  it 
be  crippled  never  so  little,  rude  Prosperity  crowds  it 
into  humbler  quarters.  "Come  not  here,"  say  its 
showy  structures,  '^if  you  have  not  money;  for  only 
lengthy  purses  can  buy  you  welcome !" 

Whatever  is  purchasable*  can  be  had  in  Broadway. 
Virtue  and  honesty  may  be  bought  there  like  tropical 
fruits  and  diamond  bracelets.  All  the  markets  of  the 
Earth  contribute  to  its  supplies,  and  its  goods  are  fur- 
nished from  every  port  whence  vessels  sail. 

You  need  never  go  out  of  Broadway  for  the  obtain- 
ment  of  every  luxury  and  the  indulgence  of  every 
pleasure.  Stay  there  contentedly,  and  Paris,  and 
London,  and  Berlin,  and  Florence  will  come  to  you. 
The  wares  and  products  of  Europe  and  of  Asia  are 
within  your  daily  promenade.  Open  your  purse,  and 
all  your  desires  shall  be  gratified. 

Lucullus,  and  Sardanapalus,  and  Apicius  might  have 
delighted  every  sense  with  the  last  refinements  of  vo- 
luptuousness between  Canal  and  Twenty-sixth  street, 
and  found  new  joys  as  fast  as  the  old  were  sated. 
Banquets  as  rich  as  theirs,  music  as  sweetly  seductive, 
women  as  fair  and  frail,  would  come  at  their  pecunia- 
ry bidding,  in  this  as  in  the  centuries  long  past. 


h 


Broadway.  341 

Yice  wears  a  fair  mask  at  every  corner,  and  Art 
smiles  in  a  thousand  bewitching  forms.  Hotels,  and 
playhouses,  and  bazaars,  and  music-halls,  and  bagnios, 
and  gambling  hells  are  radiantly  mingled  together ; 
and  any  of  them  will  give  what  you  seek,  and  more 
sometimes. 

Be  it  India  shawls  or  Italian  singers ;  Mechlin  laces, 
or  mementoes  of  the  Orient ;  Persian  silks,  or  poems 
that  every  age  makes  newly  immortal ;  lore  of  the 
ancients,  or  love-adventures ;  flowers  of  the  tropics,  or 
fleeces  from  Thibet, — anything  rare,  or  ripe,  or  dan- 
gerous, or  dainty, — each  and  all  are  within  your  reach, 
if  you  can  pay  the  price  morally  and  materially. 

But  to  the  philosopher,  no  less  than  the  pleasure- 
seeker,  Broadway  has  its  charms ;  for  he  can  find  there 
stimulant  for  thought  and  food  for  feeling.  He  can 
meet  at  every  turn  his  brothers  from  other  climes,  his 
sisters  in  other  spheres.  Their  blood  has  flown  in  such 
divergent  streams  that  he  knows  his  kindred  not. 
Yet,  if  he  tarried  with  them  long,  he  would  see  how 
they  are  related. 

How  the  ranks  and  antagonisms  of  life  jostle  each 
other  on  that  crowded  pave !  Saints  and  sinners,  men- 
dicants and  millionaires,  priests  and  poets,  courtesans 
and  chiifoniers,  burglars  and  bootblacks,  move  side  by 
side  in  the  multiform  throng.  They  touch  at  the  el- 
bows, with  all  the  World  between  them.  They  breathe 
the  same  breath,  and  yet  they  are  entire  strangers. 

The  same  bodies  and  the  same  souls,  something  lies 
between  them  they  shall  never  cross,  unless  fickle  For- 
tune makes  them  golden  equals.  But  in  this  broad, 
free  air  there  is  hope  for  all. 

They  may  change  positions  in  a  few  years.     The 


342  The  Great  Metropolis 

lowly  strive  to  climb,  and  the  lofty  are  like  to  fall. 
Let  the  kaleidoscope  of  destiny  turn,,  and  the  same 
elements  assume  new  and  shining  forms*,  and  still  they 
are  only  bits  of  gaudy  glass. 

You  and  I,  reader,  can  see  all  our  friends,  if  we  are 
so  fortunate  as  to  have  them,  and  our  acquaintances 
of  other  days  in  Broadway. 

The  men  we  met  up  the  Nile,  and  climbed  Mont 
Blanc  with,  and  dined  opposite  at  the  Trois  Freres  and 
gossiped  about  at  the  bull-fight  in  Madrid,  will  bow  at 
the  corner  of  Houston  or  Warren  street.  Or,  if  they 
do  not,  they  will  come  by  and  by. 

The  dark-eyed  gipsy  who  won  such  rolls  of  coin  at 
Hombourg;  the  olive-cheeked  beauty  we  captivated 
with  our  slender  Italian  at  Rome ;  the  fair  and  spiritu- 
elle  American  to  whom  we  made  love  on  the  deck  of 
the  vessel  that  sailed  so  dreamily  down  the  Danube 
under  the  star-studded  sky, — they  will  pass  us,  if  we 
wait  and  walk  often  in  Broadway. 

With  how  many  companions  ha ve  I  strolled  and  ridden 
through  Broadway  during  the  past  twenty  j^ears !  As 
a  child,  I  remember  being  borne  along  by  the  hand, 
when  Canal  street  was  up  town,  and  Union  Square  the 
terminus  of  the  promenade.  Those  companions,  like 
the  buildings  of  the  street,  have  disappeared  in  the 
grave  or  in  the  spaces  of  the  Globe,  and  were  forgotten 
until  some  incident  or  association  brought  them  to 
memory  again. 

Every  day  one  meets  those  he  saw  last  on  the  other 
side  of  the  ocean  or  existence,  or  under  circumstances 
directly  opposed  to  the  present  time  or  place. 

A  walk  through  Broadway  revives  reconection; 
makes  life  flow  backward  for  the  hour;  lifts  the  cur- 


Broadway.  343 

tain  from  scenes  of  the  past;  recreates  feelings  often 
pleasant,  oftener  painful, — all  ghosts  of  the  dead  years 
that  shimmer  through  our  darkened  memory. 

Come  with  me,  you  who  have  traveled  and  seen  the 
World  at  strange  angles,  and  had  loves,  and  hates,  and 
ambitions,  and  expectations ;  and  Broadway  will  show 
you  how  hollow  they  all  are ;  how  experience  repeats 
itself,  and  the  divinest  passions  pall  and  pale. 

In  the  midst  of  this  bustle,  and  fret,  and  hurry, 
Poetry  gleams  out  fitfully,  and  Philosophy  looks  stead- 
ily with  calm,  sad  eyes. 

There  dashes  by  in  the  handsome  carriage  the  woman 
who  vowed  she  w^orshiped  you  once,  though  she  was 
another's;  who  called  you  her  lord,  her  master,  and 
her  king;  and  all  whose  peace,  she  declared,  lay  in  the 
little  words,  ^'I  love  you!"  Perhaps  you  believed  it 
then.  But  she  and  you  mutually  forgot.  Circumstance 
strangled  sentiment,  and  Destiny  passion.  And  now 
she  knows  not  your  face ;  and  what  then  seemed  to 
you  tragedy  proves  a  droll  comedy  after  all. 

You  are  wiser  in  the  present.  You  have  concluded 
that  what  we  call  Love  is  merely  sweet  cordial.  It 
intoxicates  for  the  time,  and  we  see  not  things  as  they 
are.  But  soberness  returns,  and  the  purple  phantasy 
vanishes,  and  Love  proves  to  be  a  dream,  which  has 
its  attractions,  though  we  are  aware  it  is  only  a  dream. 

That  face  looks  familiar  as  it  goes  by.  Reflection 
tells  you  it  belongs  to  your  nearest,  friend,  of  a  few 
years  ago.  You  and  he  quarreled  about  a  trifle — per- 
haps a  pretty  face,  perhaps  over  a  warm  argument. 
You  wonder  you  could  have  liked  him  ever.  He  is 
hard  and  selfish  whom  you  believed  the  soul  of  gen- 
erosity and  chivalry.  But  so  it  always  proves  when 
separation  mars  idealization. 


344  The  Cheat  Metropolis. 

Who  would  suppose  that  large,  ruddy  creature,  the 
mother  of  half  a  dozen  children,  was  the  sentimental 
school-girl  whose  blue  eyes  you  kissed,  and  whose 
golden  hair  you  caressed,  in  the  New-England  town, 
or  in  the  sunny  South,  ten  or  fifteen  years  ago  ?  You 
are  not  conscious  of  it.  But  it  is  so.  The  inexorable 
facts  of  life  have  hidden  her  identity,  and  changed  her 
inwardly  and  outwardly. 

The  well-to-do  person  who  pushes  past  was  your 
companion-in-arms  during  our  great  War.  The  last 
time  you  saw  him,  he  was  bleeding  in  the  hospital-tent, 
amid  the  roar  of  the  fierce  battle.  You  left  him  dying 
as  you  thought,  and  hurried  to  the  front  line.  Since 
then  you  have  not  met  him,  and  now  he  is  a  successful 
merchant  in  Murray  street. 

What  a  badge  of  prosperity  wears  he  who  steps  into 
his  coupe  and  drives  off  with  the  air  of  a  nabob.  You 
remember  you  lent  him,  in  Chicago  or  New-Orleans, 
the  means  to  buy  his  breakfast  at  the  convention  some 
years  before  the  civil  struggle.  Since  that  period  he 
has  made  a  million  in  Wall  street,  and  is  director  in 
one  of  the  largest  of  the  Broadway  banks. 

In  the  next  block  you  encounter  a  haggard,  poverty- 
stricken  man,  whom  you  knew  in  the  South  as  a  planter 
that  reckoned  his  estate  by  hundreds  of  thousands. 
Fortune  went  ill  with  him,  and  he  lives  now  by  the 
charity  of  a  few,  and  lives  hard.  Heaven  knows,  though 
he  has  given  away  what  would  make  him  rich  again. 

Brawny  and  muscular  is  the  man  with  the  dark  eyes 
and  coal  black  hair  across  the  way.  He  was  a  black- 
leg and  prize-fighter  ten  years  since.  He  is  now  a 
blackleg  and  a  companion  of  bulls  and  bears,  and  a 
member  of  Congress,  who  is  not  wholly  out  of  place  in 


PARK  BANK,  BROADWAY 


Broadway.  345 

Washington  either;  for  far  worse  men  than  he  "have 
been  there, — are  there  at  this  moment,  the  more's  the 
pity. 

But  who  is  not  in  Broadw^ay?  All  who  are  not 
dead  are,  or  have  been,  or  will  be.  Aiad  the  dead  may 
be,  too,  in  another  form.  Stay  there,  and  the  World 
will  come  round  to  you  in  its  own  season. 

Expect  the  Emperor  of  the  French,  and  the  Czar  of 
Ilussia,  and  the  Pope,  and  the  Sultan;  for  Broadway 
draws  the  streams  of  the  World  into  its  strong  currents 
more  and  more  every  year. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 
THE     THIEVES. 

Crime  has  a  strange  fascination  for  the  best  of  us; 
and  a  deep  interest  in  its  details  belongs  to  human  na- 
ture. After  fairy  tales  and  wonder-books  little  people 
are  drawn  to  the  horrors  of  vice  as  babes  to  the  ma- 
ternal bosom.  And  children  of  a  larger  growth  rarely 
lose  their  taste  for  the  terrible  save  through  the  puri- 
fication of  discipline  and  culture.  The  "Pirate's  Own 
Book  "  and  the  confessions  of  murderers  the  precocious 
boy  soon  loses  his  relish  for ;  but  even  in  mature  years 
he  finds  highly-seasoned  food  for  his  mind  in  the  career 
of  burglars  and  the  adventures  of  assassins. 

This  is  not  singular  either;  for  every  phase  of  hu- 
manity concerns  us,  though  unconsciously,  as  a  possible 
experience  of  our  own.  If  we  are  broad  and  philo- 
sophic, we  read  of  shuddering  vices  as  something  we 
escaped  by  favor  of  circumstance.  If  we  are  narrow 
and  commonplace,  we  find  satisfaction  in  the  thought 
that  others  are  so  much  worse  than  we,  forgetful  that 
organization  and  surroundings  determine  fate. 

But,  however  interesting  crime  may  be,  criminals 
are  not,  unless  set  in  illusion  and  encircled  with  ro- 
mance. Stripped  of  the  raiment  with  which  fancy 
invests  them,  they  are  like  the  tinseled  kings  of  the 
stage  when  the  curtain  has  fallen  upon  their  mimic 


I 


The  Thieves.  347 

sway.  They  are  personally  and  mentally  what  they 
are  morally — common  characters  without  the  smallest 
poetic  pegs  to  hang  idealization  on. 

Jerry  O'Brien  may  glimmer  for  a  moment  like  a 
hero,  as  he  stands  young  and  sober,  penitent  and  calm 
on  the  scaffold.  Bob  LefFerts  may  seem  daring  and 
desperate  as  he  appears  in  a  flash  print  leaping  with  a 
dark  lantern  from  one  roof  to  another  while  policemen 
follow  the  burglar  with  flashing  pistols.  But  examin- 
ation proves  them  to  be  vulgar  villains,  whose  manners 
are  quite  as  repulsive  as  their  morals. 

Robbers  and  thieves  have  long  been  made  the  crea- 
tions of  romance  by  men  of  genius  as  well  as  by  com- 
mon scribblers  pandering  to  vitiated  tastes.  Schiller 
made  Charles  de  Moor  a  model  of  romantic  scoundrel- 
ism,  and  Walter  Scott  painted  the  cattle-thieves  and 
coarse  freebooters  of  the  Highlands  as  magnificent  fel- 
lows devoted  to  a  sacred  cause.  So  the  poor  brains 
of  writers  for  the  New-York  weeklies  strive  to  invest 
the  thieves  of  the  Metropolis  with  high  redeeming  vir- 
tues, and  partially  succeed  with  such  readers  as  know 
nothing  of  the  plundering  class.  They  are  petty  and 
sorry  rogues,  however,  when  you  see  them  as  they  are, 
and  won't  admit  of  sentimental  or  sympathetic  treat- 
ment. 

The  professional  thieves  of  the  Metropolis,  independ- 
ent of  those  in  the  City  Hall,  number  6,000  or  7,000. 
They  are  rapidly  increasing,  and  are  said  to  be  nearly 
double  what  they  were  fifteen  years  ago.  Their  call- 
ing is  as  distinct,  their  business  as  systematic,  as  that 
of  their  more  honest  neighbors.  They  form  a  part  of 
our  great  centre  of  civilization,  and  perhaps  regard 
themselves  as  essential  to  its  continuance.     No  doubt 


348  The  Great  Metropolis. 

they  perform  certain  functions  which  result  indirectly 
to  the  advantage  of  the  community,  though  their  im- 
mediate effect  can  hardly  be  considered  beneficial. 

The  thieves  of  New-York  are  of  various  kinds,  though 
they  may  be  divided  into  five  classes,  each  of  which  is 
separate  from  the  other,  and  demands  the  exercise  of 
particular  capacities  or  qualities.  The  classes  are  bur- 
glars, hotel-robbers,  shop-lifters,  pickpockets,  and 
sneak-thieves.  They  never  interfere  or  associate  with 
each  other,  and  the  lines  of  demarkation  are  as  firmly 
drawn  between  them  as  between  lawyers,  physicians, 
and  merchants. 

Burglars  are  at  the  head  of  the  profession ;  are  look- 
ed up  to  and  admired  as  congressmen  by  ward  politi- 
cians, or  full-fledged  authors  by  novices  in  composition. 
They  have  necessarily  more  brain  and  nerve  than  com- 
mon pillagers,  and  they  believe  that  for  eminent  suc- 
cess they  must  be  born  to  their  vocation  as  poets  and 
orators  are.  Pure  American  burglars  are  scarce,  but, 
when  found,  are  shrewder  and  more  dangerous  and 
reckless  than  those  of  foreign  birth. 

Most  of  the  tribe  are  English,  with  a  considerable 
intermixture  of  Irish  and  Germans.  Now  and  then 
you  discover  a  Scotchman,  Frenchman,  or  Spaniard 
among  them,  but  very  seldom;  for  those  nationalities 
show  little  genius  for  the  peculiar  calling.  They  are 
rarely  if  ever  men  of  education, — few  of  them  can  write 
indeed, — but  they  are  constitutionally  cunning  and 
bold,  with  all  their  animal  instincts  strongly  developed. 
They  closely  resemble  prize-fighters  in  character  and 
habit,  and  occasionally  sink  to  the  grade  of  fistic  cham- 
pions by  force  of  circumstances.  They  are  usually 
indolent,  and  operate  only  at  considerable  intervals; 


The  Thieves.  349 

prudence  as  well  as  temperament  requiring  that  their 
labors  should  be  succeeded  by  long  intermissions.  After 
varied  experience,  however,  they  attain  a  love  of  ad- 
venture and  danger  that  sometimes  prompts  them  to 
misdeeds  when  necessities  do  not.  One  or  two  bur- 
glaries a  month  satisfy  their  avarice  and  ambition ;  and, 
if  they  are  well  rewarded  in  an  enterprise,  they  often 
lie  idle  for  a  whole  season. 

Burglars  proceed  cautiously  and  systematically  al- 
ways; doing  their  work  by  prescribed  degrees  and 
after  a  thorough  maturing  of  their  plans.  They  first 
select  a  house  or  store  into  which  they  intend  to  break ; 
watch  it  generally  for  several  days,  perhaps  weeks,  to 
determine  the  habits  of  its  inmates, — when  they  come 
and  go,  how  many  there  are,  where  they  secrete  their 
valuables,  what  precautions  against  thieves  are  adopted 
or  omitted,  and  aught  else  needful  to  be  learned. 

The  robber  always  has  a  confederate,  sometimes  two 
or  more ;  the  confederate  keeping  vigil  to  give  due 
warnings  of  the  approach  of  danger,  or  to  draw  atten- 
tion away  from  his  chief  while  the  crime  is  accomplished 
or  escape  secured. 

False  keys  are  largely  employed  by  the  burglar,  who 
manages  to  obtain  an  impression  of  the  key -hole  in  wax 
when  unobserved,  and  so  supplies  himself  with  the 
means  of  ingress. 

The  key  procured,  and  the  habits  of  the  inmates  and 
the  construction  of  the  building  having  been  ascertain- 
ed,— this  branch  of  the  art  is  technically  called  "  plant- 
ing,— the  burglar  and  his  confederate,  thoroughly 
armed,  either  to  terrify  others  or  defend  themselves, 
and  provided  with  gunpowder,  dark-lantern,  jimmy 


350  The  Great  Metropolis. 

and  outsider,  go  to  the  place  selected,  and  proceed  to 
business. 

When  everything  is  quiet — about  2  or  3  o'clock  in 
the  morning  is  the  time  generally  selected,  as  persons 
sleep  most  soundly  then — the  confederate  takes  his 
stand  outside,  while  the  burglar  applies  the  key ;  uses 
his  jimmy,  if  necessary,  to  pry  off  bolts ;  and  enters, 
carefully  closing  the  door  after  him.  He  knows  where 
he  is  going,  and  exactly  what  he  seeks.  If  a  safe  is 
to  be  entered,  he  accomplishes  his  purpose ;  abstracts 
the  contents,  and  departs  noiselessly  in  his  soft  slippers 
provided  for  the  occasion.  If  a  silver  closet  is  to  be 
ransacked,  he  has  a  bag  Avith  him ;  carries  off  his  plun- 
der, rejoins  his  confederate,  and  they  go  cautiously  to 
their  abode  or  an  appointed  rendezvous.  In  the  event 
of  a  surprise  by  policemen,  the  confederate  gives  an 
understood  signal,  commonly  a  peculiar  whistle,  and 
the  insider  escapes  as  best  he  can.  If  the  occupants 
of  a  dwelling  are  awakened,  the  burglar,  too  closely 
followed,  will  often  attempt  to  frighten  his  pursuer, 
and  sometimes  take  life  to  avoid  arrest.  Generally, 
however,  it  is  his  interest  to  hurt  no  one,  and  he  will 
abstain  from  the  use  of  weapons  while  it  is  possible  to 
get  away.  Many  robbers  are  cowardly  when  con- 
fronted ;  but  others  are  courageous  and  even  des- 
perate, and  will  not  long  hesitate  between  shooting 
and  escaping. 

The  first-class  burglar  universally  prefers  stores  or 
warehouses  to  dwellings,  for  the  former  offer  greater 
inducement,  and  can  be  entered  with  less  peril.  Pri- 
vate houses  are  most  likely  to  be  entered  in  the  Sum- 
mer, when  families  are  absent  from  the  City,  and  rob- 
beries in  that  quarter  are  mainly  confined  to  the  out- 
of-town  season. 


The  Thieves.  351 

Hotel  robbers,  as  their  name  implies,  frequent  hotels, 
generally  boarding  at  them,  and  passing  for  strangers. 
They  dress  well ;  have  quiet  manners ;  assume  to  have 
business  with  various  firms,  the  location  of  whose 
stores  they  inquire  at  the  office ;  go  out  and  come  in 
at  stated  hours ;  read  and  write  spurious  letters,  and 
play  the  country  merchant  like  the  trained  artists  that 
they  are.  The  members  of  this  class  are  generally 
educated,  partially  at  least,  and  bear  nothing  sus- 
picious about  them. 

They  are  ever  on  the  alert,  and  soon  learn  what 
boarders  are  worth  stealing  from.  When  the  occu- 
pants of  certain  rooms  are  out,  they  slip  in  with  false 
keys,  and  possess  themselves  of  such  valuables  and 
garments  as  they  can  lay  hands  on.  They  remove 
the  screws  of  bolts,  and  leave  the  bolts  in  their 
places  by  means  of  putty  or  wax,  so  that  they  can 
obtain  entrance  after  the  guest  or  guests  have  retired 
for  the  night.  Nearly  every  public  house  in  town  has 
some  of  these  thieves  among  its  boarders ;  and  yet  the 
special  detectives  employed  by  landlords  do  not  know 
the  scoundrels.  The  rogues  operate  very  adroitly, 
and  generally  so  securely  that  years  elapse  before  they 
are  found  out.  They  do  not  stay  long  in  one  house, 
or  in  one  town,  but  make  tours  of  the  large  cities,  re- 
maining long  enough  away  from  New  York  to  recruit 
any  unhealthiness  of  reputation.  Once  detected,  their 
usefulness  to  themselves  is  seriously  impaired,  as  they 
are  marked  characters  ever  afterward,  and  expelled 
the  moment  they  enter  a  public  house,  unless  they  are 
very  carefully  disguised.  Even  if  suspected  they  fare 
badly ;  for  to  be  suspected  is  nearly  as  bad  as  to  be 
proved  guilty. 


352  The  Great  Metropolis. 

The  hotel-thieves  are  the  "gentlemanly"  thieves ^^ar 
excellence^  and  are  more  likely  to  impose  upon  the 
communiiy  than  any  others.  They  are  apt  to  begin 
by  genteel  swindling,  and  end  as  forgers.  I  have 
known  them  to  be  men  of  quite  respectable  family 
and  considerable  culture,  who,  from  living  beyond 
their  means  and  borrowing  money  recklessly,  so  lost 
all  credit  and  self-respect  that  they  were  finally  com- 
pelled to  steal  to  sustain  their  extravagance. 

Shop-lifters  are  composed  of  both  sexes,  the  women 
being  quite  as  numerous  as  the  men.  They  confine 
their  depredations  entirely  to  stores,  and  adopt  many 
ingenious  devices  to  plunder.  They  are  compelled  to 
resort  to  new  shifts,  as  the  old  ones  are  discovered 
after  a  brief  while.  They  have  confederates  generally, 
that  the  attention  of  merchants  may  be  engaged  while 
the  purloining  takes  place.  They  steal  from  the  front 
of  stores — the  Bowery  is  a  favorite  field  of  operations 
— while  their  associates  are  examining  goods  inside. 
They  acquire  special  skill,  and  can  pick  up  a  ring  or  a 
bracelet,  a  pair  of  shoes,  a  piece  of  silk  or  lace,  and 
conceal  it  before  the  very  eyes  of  a  clerk,  in  a  manner 
that  would  do  credit  to  a  professional  necromancer. 

Sometimes  they  have  capacious  bags  into  which 
they  sweep  articles  when  the  salesman's  back  is  turned ; 
then  purchase  a  trifle  and  depart.  Both  sexes  wear 
sleeves  that  favor  concealment,  and  have  a  knack  of 
hiding  things  about  their  persons  that  only  long  prac- 
tice could  have  perfected.  They  frequently  purchase 
a  box  of  goods,  conceal  it  somewhere  and  carry  it  off, 
leaving  another  much  like  it,  prepared  beforehand,  in 
its  place  ;  say  they  will  return  and  pay  for  it,  and  get 
off  undiscovered.     Children  are  trained  to  the  art,  and 


The  Thieves.  353 

prosper  in  it,  because,  from  their  tender  age,  they  are 
not  suspected.  Little  boys  and  girls  of  nine  and  ten, 
and  even  six  and  seven,  are  taught  to  steal  by  their 
parents,  and  do  it  so  well  as  to  prove  that  certain 
kinds  of  genius  are  hereditary. 

Pickpockets  seldom  enter  upon  their  profession  until 
they  have  been  educated,  by  learned  professors,  to  the 
needful  sleight  of  hand  and  delicacy  of  manipulation. 
There  are  places  in  the  Fourth,  Sixth  and  Eighteenth 
wards  where  schools  like  those  of  Fagin,  and  disciples 
like  the  Artful  Dodger  may  be  found.  Pickpockets 
are  well,  but  modestly,  attired,  and  ply  their  trade  at 
the  places  of  amusement,  in  Broadway,  in  the  stages 
and  street-cars,  at  fires  and  the  ferries,  where  there  is 
a  crowd,  with  its  attendant  jostle  and  confusion. 
Their  dexterity  is  marvelous.  If  the  opportunity  be 
favorable,  they  can  get  your  watch  and  pocket-book 
every  day  in  the  week ;  and  yet  each  time  you  will 
wonder  how  they  did  it. 

Recently  some  of  them  have  become  ticket-specu- 
lators in  front  of  the  theaters,  where  they  have  ad- 
mirable facilities  for  robbery,  and  avail  themselves 
thereof  to  the  utmost. 

A  favorite  plan  of  theirs  is  to  excite,  or  assume  to 
excite,  a  disturbance  of  some  kind,  and  under  the  ap- 
parent endeavor  to  extricate  themselves  from  the 
crowd,  to  reap  a  digital  harvest.  Not  infrequently 
they  charge  an  honest  man  with  taking  their  pocket- 
book,  and,  during  the  temporary  excitement,  steal  his, 
and  make  off  with  it. 

New- York  is  the  best  place  in  the  World  for  pocket- 
picking,  in  consequence  of  the  carelessness  of  the 
people,  their  haste,  and  habit  of  carrying  considerable 

23 


354  The  Great  Metropolis. 

sums  of  money  upon  their  persons.  Traveled  gentry 
of  light-fingered  proclivities  testify  they  can  do  better 
in  the  Metropolis  than  anyAvhere  else. 

Sneak-thieves  have  no  regular  method.  They  get 
their  name  from  sneaking  into  entry  ways  and  shops 
and  hotel  rooms,  carrying  off  hats,  boots,  coats  and 
small  articles  generally.  Sometimes  they  make  a 
bolder  flight ;  sneak  into  bank-vaults,  and  steal  bonds 
and  securities ;  but  this  is  more  properly  the  business 
of  ingenious  robbers  who  make  their  calling  a  study 
and  an  art. 

The  sneaks  are  a  most  contemptible  class,  and  are 
despised  by  all  others  whose  profession  it  is  to  steal. 
They  have  a  hang-dog  look,  and  cannot  meet  the  gaze 
of  a  passerby.  Without  courage,  skill  or  tact,  they  are 
stragglers  from  the  army  of  common  scoundrels ;  rob- 
bing children,  old  women,  and  drunken  men.  They 
are  the  fellows  who  sell  brass  watches  to  country 
people ;  play  the  ball-game  and  the  little  joker ;  plun- 
der poor  emigrants  at  the  Battery ;  pass  the  night 
with  wretched  courtesans,  and  steal  their  clothes  in.  the 
morning. 

They  run  so  few  risks ;  are  so  timid  and  unambi- 
tious that  they  are  not  very  often  arrested,  and  when 
they  are,  are  merely  sent  to  Blackwell's  island  for  a 
few  months,  and  released  to  continue  their  small  vil- 
lainies. 

"  Cheating  luck  never  thrives  "  is  a  homely  proverb, 
but  true.  Nor  does  stealing,  either.  Few  of  any  of 
the  hundreds  of  thieves  that  infest  the  City  ever  accu- 
mulate anything.  They  are  all  prodigal,  wasteful,  dis- 
sipated— gamblers,  debauchees,  lechers ;  work  harder 
and  suffer  more  to  be  dishonest  than  they  need  to  be 
honest  and  prosper. 


The  Thieves.  355 

But,  like  all  the  rest  of  us,  their  destiny  is  deter- 
mined for  them  by  circumstances,  and  they  move  in 
the  direction  their  organization  propels  them.  If  they 
are  thieves,  they  are  in  good  company ;  for  tens  of 
thousands  of  more  fortunate  New-Yorkers  steal  with, 
but  not  like  them. 

Their  conscience  need  not  trouble  them  sorely — nor 
does  it,  I  suspect,  for  those  we  call  the  worst  are  prone 
to  justify  their  conduct  to  themselves — because  they 
can  walk  down  the  fashionable  avenues  and  the  busi- 
ness streets,  point  to  the  brown-stone  and  marble  pal- 
aces and  say,  "Here  are  our  brothers  in  misdoing; 
but  they  rob  more  freely  and  securely,  and  we  are 
punished  for  all  1 " 


J 


CHAPTER    XL. 
SUNDAY    IN    THE    METROPOLIS. 

The  dilFerence  between  Sunday  and  what  is  known 
as  week  days  is  more  distinctively  marked  in  the 
Metropolis  than  in  any  American  city  outside  of  New 
England.  Paris  and  Palmyra  are  hardly  more  unlike 
than  New- York  on  Sunday  and  New- York  on  other 
days. 

The  mighty  machine  with  all  its  wheels,  and  cranks, 
and  levers,  and  cylinders,  stops  on  Saturday  night 
like  a  clock  that  has  run  down,  and  does  not  move 
again  until  Monday  morning.  Broadway  and  Wall 
street,  the  Bowery  and  Nassau  street.  Fifth  avenue  and 
Twenty-third  street,  lose  their  characteristic  features 
on  Sunday,  and  hundreds  of  thousands  of  persons  and 
things  suddenly  and  mysteriously  disappear  during  a 
space  of  twenty  four  hours.  New-York,  so  noisy,  so 
feverish,  so  gay,  so  bewildering  on  six  days  of  the  week, 
waxes  quiet  and  sober  on  the  seventh.  The  wild 
week's  spree  of  Manhattan  ends  with  the  midnight  of 
Saturday,  and  is  followed  by  repose,  if  not  reflection. 

Strangers  who  dote  on  the  great  City  for  its  excite- 
ments and  sensations  abhor  its  Sabbaths,  and  depart 
if  possible  before  its  desolation  comes.  The  hotels, 
crowded  to  suffocation,  begin  to  empty  on  Friday, 
and   by    Saturday   night   look  as  deserted  as  if  the  _ 

I 


Sunday  in  New- York.  357 

plague  had  stricken  them.  Gotham  is  the  embodi- 
ment of  duHness  to  all  but  native  Metropolitans  on 
Sunday.  No  theaters,  no  opera,  no  races,  no  libraries, 
no  ever-changing  Broadway,  no  teeming  piers,  no  tur- 
bulent Wall  street — w^hat  can  the  mere  sojourner  find 
for  his  profit  or  amusement  ?  He  is  caught  by  a  run- 
out tide,  and  he  may  hoist  signals  of  distress,  never  so 
many ;  but  he  is  little  likely  to  be  relieved  until  Mon- 
day's returning  tide  takes  him  off  again. 

Time  was,  before  the  Excise  Law,  w^hen  strangers 
consoled  themselves  for  lack  of  externals  by  inward 
administerings.  They  fled  to  bar-rooms  for  cocktail 
comfort  and  brandy  smash  satisfaction.  They  got 
drunk  in  self-defense.  Sunday  was  specially  distin- 
guished for  its  inebriates.  Bar-keepers  divided 
their  labors  with  policemen.  The  station-houses  were 
full,  and  head-aches,  nausea  and  repentances  were  the 
inseparable  accompanient  of  Monday  morning.  All 
that  is  changed  now.  Drinking  saloons  are  closed  to 
the  multitude.  They  who  are  stranded  in  the  Me- 
tropolis on  Sunday  must  keep  sober  as  their  surround- 
ings ;  cultivate  philanthropy ;  be  patient  until  the  little 
world  along  the  Hudson  revolves  again. 

Sunday  in  New- York  may  not  be  a  day  of  worship, 
but  it  is  a  day  of  rest.  Everything  rests  but  the 
street-cars,  and  druggists,  and  journalists.  Their  toil 
is  Sisyphian ;  the  wheel  to  which  they  are  bound  Ixi- 
onic.  Broadway  is  locked  and  barred  and  bolted,  all 
the  way  from  Bowling  Green  to  its  upper  terminus. 
Exchange  place  is  silent  as  the  tomb  of  the  Ptolemies. 
Broadway  is  hushed  as  Herculaneum  and  Pompeii. 
The  Stock  Exchange  and  the  Gold  Room,  those  tem- 
porary asylums  for  financial  maniacs,  glare  like  the 


358  The  Great  Metropolis. 

dead  in  marble  stillness.  The  hundreds  of  seething 
operators  and  speculators  have  dispersed  as  if  nature 
had  read  the  riot  act  to  them.  The  bears  have  lain 
down  somewhere  with  the  lambs  of  peace ;  and  the 
bulls  have  wrapped  their  horns  with  the  folds  of  do- 
mestic felicity. 

The  City  Hall  has  forgot  its  cunning;  and  council- 
men  and  aldermen  steal  not  until  the  morrow.  The 
Fourth  and  Sixth  wards  attempt  a  feeble  show  of  de- 
cency ;  wash  half  their  face,  and  see  some  of  the  filth 
they  live  in.  Dover,  and  Oak,  and  Cherry  streets 
draw  their  sooty  children  from  the  reeking  gutter,  and 
greet  the  soft  sunshine  with  new  rags  of  fetid  finery. 

The  fires  of  the  thousands  of  subterranean  boilers  go 
out  down  town,  and  the  powerful  engines  sleep  on  their 
oily  pillows.  Only  in  the  neighborhood  of  Printing- 
House  square  do  keen- eyed  men  telegraph  thought  to 
the  World  with  the  click,  click  of  their  falling  type, 
and  bend  over  paper-heaped  desks,  and  feed  fires,  and 
make  steam  that  starts  the  thunder  of  giant  presses  that 
rumbles  throughout  the  Globe. 

And  yet  New-York  is  neither  devout  nor  prayerful. 
It  believes  more  in  Sunday  than  the  Sabbath.  It 
ceases  from  labor  rather  than  from  sin.  It  obeys  na- 
ture, not  theology.  It  is  not  contrite,  but  its  hands 
are  tired.  The  churches  do  not  draw  to  their  sanctu- 
aries one  in  twenty  of  the  rest-takers  Many  have  no 
faith  in  them.  And  those  who  have  cannot  afford  the 
luxury  of  divine  service  any  more  than  that  of  an; 
opera  box.  One  costs  nearly  as  much  as  the  other, 
and  the  latter  is  to  many  more  attractive.  The  world- 
ling reasons  thus : 

"  Why  should  any  man  feel  obliged  to  weary  him-. 


Sunday  in  New- York.  359 

self  ^yitll  tedious  sermons  monotonously  delivered  when 
he  can  remain  at  home  and  rest  comfortably  ?  It  is  no 
more  a  duty  to  go  to  church  than  to  Europe ;  and  he 
who  goes  merely  from  sense  of  duty  would  better  re- 
main away.  To  be  inspired  with  new  and  good  reso- 
lutions, to  be  truer,  juster,  purer,  more  charitable — 
that  is  what  we  should  seek.  Wherever  we  become 
so  is  the  best  place  for  us,  whether  at  the  altar  or  the 
theater,  whether  in  the  kneeling  congregation  or  in 
the  solitude  of  our  own  chamber." 

Our  three  or  four  hundred  churches  wo  ild  not  be- 
gin to  hold  the  million  that  sheathes  its  claws  of  toil 
on  Sunday.  They  who  are  benefited  by  churches  find 
them,  I  suppose,  in  spite  of  repellent  sextons  and 
frigid  worshipers  whose  eyes  say:  "  Come  not  here  ! 
You  may  be  holy,  but  you  are  not  well-dressed."  But 
the  many  seek  religion  in  rest,  in  communion  with 
their  families,  in  pleasant  books,  in  the  fresh  air  of  the 
sea,  in  the  visits  of  their  friends,  in  the  sweet  con- 
sciousness of  belonging  for  one  day  to  themselves. 
Those  things  sing  and  preach  to  them  better  and 
more  effectively  than  paid  choirs  and  doctrinal  clergy- 
men. If  to  labor  is  to  pray,  rest  is  the  answer  to  the 
prayer ;  and  we  all  need  leisure  and  freedom  even  to 
be  good. 

But  for  Sunday  few  of  our  mechanics  or  merchants 
would  become  well  acquainted  with  their  families. 
When  they  step  from  the  tread-mill  in  the  evening 
they  are  too  worn  and  tired  for  full  appreciation  of 
their  homes.  Tasks  that  cannot  wait,  engagements 
that  must  be  met  ag  thkrm  away  from  hasty  breakfasts 
and  unfinished  sentences  to  the  workshop  over  the 
river  or  down-town.     They  know  nothing  can  be  done 


360  The  Great  Metropolis. 

on  Sunday.  So  thej  free  tlieir  minds  as  well  as  their 
hands  from  the  week-day  slavery,  and  give  their  heart 
and  soul  fourteen  or  fifteen  hours  out  of  the  hundred 
and  sixty-eight 

Monroe  the  banker,  who  has  talked,  thought  and 
dreamed  of  nothing  but  stocks,  finds  on  Sunday  he  has 
some  interest  in  his  wife's  happiness ;  that  affection  pays 
dividends  larger  than  New- York  Central,  or  Chicago 
and  Rock  Island.  He  discovers  that  a  true  woman 
wants  something  more  than  money,  and  that  the  most 
liberal  purchases  at  Stewart's  and  Tiffany's  will  not 
quite  fill  her  heart. 

Bigelow,  the  great  dry  goods  jobber,  ceases  to  fig- 
ure for  the  Fall  trade,  and,  taking  his  blue-eyed  baby 
in  his  arms,  becomes  indifferent  to  the  decline  in  wool- 
ens or  the  price  of  sheetings  for  all  time  to  come. 

The  ambitious  young  book-keeper  who  has  worked 
half  the  night  for  a  month  past,  hoping  to  have  an  in- 
terest in  the  house  some  day,  remembers  on  Sunday 
evening  he  has  not  for  months  seen  that  gentle  girl 
who  took  such  angelic  care  of  her  sick  father  until  he 
died.  ''By  Jove,  she'd  make  a  capital  wife  for  some 
man,"  he  thinks.  "Why  not  for  me?  I'm  not  vain; 
but  I  can't  help  believing  she  likes  me.  When  I  took 
her  hand  the  first  time  in  the  little  parlor,  it  certainly 
trembled,  and  so  did  her  voice.  Strange  ;  I  had  nearly 
forgotten  that.  I'll  go,  and  see  her  at  once.  My  pros- 
pects are  good ;  I'll  propose.  Benedict  was  right.  The 
World  must  be  peopled." 

The  salesman  on  West  Broadway  who  is  compelled 
to  keep  his  little  family  out  of  town  for  economy,  and 
live  in  the  City  himself  on  account  of  the  hours  he  is 
occupied,  rejoins  the  loved  ones  Saturday  evening,  and 


SuxDAY  IX  New- York.  361 

Sunday  reopens  the  gates  of  liis  domestic  Eden  shut 
all  the  week  to  its  master  and  its  lord.  When  his  dear 
young  wife  runs  to  meet  him  at  the  gate  with  the  baby 
in  her  arms,  does  he  not  bless  Sunday,  and  Heaven 
that  gave  him  such  a  treasure,  with  the  "prettiest  and 
smartest  child  in  the  world,"  in  one  and  the  same 
breath  ? 

Durins:  the  warm  months  excursions  are  abundant 
here  on  Sunday ;  and,  were  it  not  for  the  frequent 
rowdyism  that  attends  them,  they  would  be  unalloyed 
pleasure  to  the  poor.  Even  as  they  are,  they  are  most 
desirable  ;  for  they  give  new  health  and  life  to  the  la- 
borer and  mechanic,  whose  hard  labors  shut  them  up 
in  New-York  as  if  it  were  a  besieged  city. 

Boats  leave  for  almost  every  point  on  Sunday,  to 
the  East  and  North  rivers,  up  the  sound,  down  the 
bay.  Staten  island.  Coney  island,  delightful  spots  on 
Long  Island,  groves,  green  hills,  cool  valleys,  the  sea- 
side— are  all  within  easy  reach.  The  charge  is  small. 
Far  a  dollar  or  two  one  can  have  a  quiet  day  beyond 
brick  walls  and  burning  heat. 

It  is  pleasant  to  see  the  crowd  of  bronzed  and  mus- 
cular men  with  their  wives  and  children  tlironging  to 
the  piers  on  Sunday,  and  steaming  off  in  quest  of 
recreation  and  repose.  They  are  not  handsome  nor 
elegant,  nor  entirely  polite ;  but  they  are  honest  and 
industrious  and  human ;  and  their  happiness  reflects 
itself  upon  every  soul  that  is  in  sympathy  with  its  fel- 
lows. If  their  life  is  hard,  and  their  circumstances 
narrow,  they  can  enjoy  themselves  more  easily  than 
those  whose  lot  is  above  theirs.  They  are  far  happier 
than  the  more  fortunate  would  suppose.  Trifles  give 
them  satisfaction,  and  the  atoms  in  their  little  sun- 
beams dance  to  pleasant  tunes. 


362  The  Great  Metropolis. 

The  City  never  appears  so  well  or  so  contented  as 
on  Sunday,  which  is  the  whitest  day  in  the  seven.  It 
is  the  waking  from  the  restoring  sleep  after  the  long 
delirium,  the  return  to  consciousness  after  the  mutter- 
ing fever.  The  look  of  anxiety  and  restlessness  pecu- 
liar to  American  faces  in  great  cities  is  gone.  Some- 
thing like  the  old  child-like  color  comes  back  to  them 
in  gratitude  for  the  Sabbath.  New-York  grows 
young  again  on  that  day ;  for  its  cares  and  concerns 
are  set  aside.  The  fierce  storm  of  Broadway  has  lulled. 
You  can  see  its  pavement  clear  and  clean  from  Morris 
street  to  Grace  church.  Along  its  sidewalks  are  no 
hurrying  feet.  The  lumbering  stages  have  departed — 
would  they  were  all  at  the  bottom  of  the  East  river ! 
— there  is  no  blockading,  even  at  Fulton  or  Courtlandt 
street.  No  body  of  desperate  pedestrians  are  charging 
upon  the  Astor  House  or  St.  Paul's,  or  endeavoring  to 
surround  the  City  Hall  Park,  and  cut  it  off  from  the 
main  army  marching  to  Whitehall.  Park  Row  and 
Nassau  street,  after  11  o'clock,  are  innocent  of  yelling 
newsboys,  who  would  have  driven  Frederic  Fairlie, 
Esq.,  to  immediate  dissolution,  and  before  whom  As- 
trea  over  the  way  seems  nervous  through  her  marble 
robes. 

The  parks  (all  this  when  the  weather  is  pleasant  of 
course,)  are  filled  with  men,  women  and  children. 
They  sit  on  the  benches  babbling  of  their  small  con- 
cerns, quite  as  important  to  them  as  our  greater  ones, 
or  stroll  or  play  in  the  walks,  giving  out  the  unmistak- 
able sounds  that  never  come  from  heavy  hearts.  I 
wish  there  were  more  Sundays  in  the  week.  We 
should  be  better  for  them.  New-York  seems  like  Paris 
on  Sunday  in  its  contentedness ;  but  we  are  still  far 


Sunday  in  New- York.  3G3 

behind  tliat  ciiy  in  our  capacity  for  quiet  pleasure 
and  innocent  recreation.  In  Paris  Sunday  is  enjoyed 
rationally  by  the  people  at  large,  and  if  you  have  spent 
the  Sabbath  there,  you  may  remember  that  you 
thought  the  city  seemed  less  wicked  then  than  on  any 
other  day  of  the  week ;  for  it  suggested  outward  and 
inward  peace. 

We  have  not  yet  dared  lo  open  the  theaters  and 
amusement-places  for  those  who  wish  to  go.  We  have 
musical  entertainments  like  those  of  any  other  even- 
ing, and  call  them  Sunday  concerts. 

There  must  be  something  very  wicked  in  music  not 
christened  "sacred,"or  in  any  recreation  entirely  inno- 
cent and  even  desirable  on  week-days,  if  it  be  indulged 
in  on  Sunday.  But  unilluminated  heathen  cannot  see 
the  difference  the  day  makes.  Heretics  and  sinners  are 
inclined  to  believe  that  what  is  lawful  and  rational  on 
Monday  must  be  lawful  and  rational  on  Wednesday,  or 
Saturday,  or  Sunday.  But  their  opinions  are  not  en- 
titled to  serious  consideration,  certainly  not  to  much 
respect.  When  they  are  converted,  they  may  be  lis- 
tened to ;  albeit,  while  they  stumble  in  the  darkness, 
and  declare  they  are  not  afraid  of  pits,  the  orthodox 
lantern  must  not  be  hung  out  for  their  accommoda- 
tion. 

Our  churches  and  religious  societies  do  much  good. 
They  might  do  more  if  they  were  broader,  and  did 
not  insist  on  every  one  seeing  with  their  eyes  and 
speaking  with  their  tongue.  But  the  secular  and 
spiritual-minded  are  agreed  upon  the  beneficence  of 
Sunday.  It  is  a  beautiful  and  peaceful,  a  wholesome 
and  a  healing  day,  whether  the  church-bells  or  the 
symphonies  of  Beethoven,  or  the  verse  of  Shakspeare, 


364 


The  Great  Metropolis. 


or  the  laugh  of  gladness — they  are  all  religious — wel- 
come them  in. 

Sunday  "knits  up  the  raveled  sleeve  of  care,"  and 
lays  the  aching  head  upon  pillows  of  down.  It 
touches  the  fevered  brow  with  the  cool  hand  of  sym- 
pathy, and  baptizes  with  delicious  moisture  the  lips 
that  have  grown  dry  and  hot  through  the  week's  work. 
Sunday  is  a  blessed  and  a  blessing  thing ;  and  before 
its  fair  Aurora  the  shadows  of  six  days  of  weariness 
fade  into  light. 


CHAPTER   XLI. 
THURLOW     WEED. 

With  the  single  exception  of  William  Cullen  Bryant, 
Tlinrlow  Weed  is  the  oldest  editor  in  New-York,  hav- 
ing been  born  in  Cairo,  in  Greene  County,  of  this 
State,  November  15, 1797.  Widely  known  and  highly 
influential  as  he  is  and  has  been  as  a  journalist,  his  con- 
nection with  a  metropolitan  newspaper  is  very  recent. 

Weed  has  had  quite  a  varied  career,  having  been  a 
cabin  boy,  a  wood-chopper,  a  printer,  a  soldier,  a  poli- 
tician and  a  journalist,  faithfully  serving  and  long  work- 
ing, which  last  should  redeem  any  sins,  physical  or 
spiritual,  he  may  have  committed.  After  "running" 
on  the  Hudson  during  his  tenth  and  part  of  his  eleventh 
year,  he  entered  a  printing  office  in  the  village  of  Cat- 
skill  in  the  peculiar  capacity  of  "devil."  In  his  thir- 
teenth year  he  went  to  Cincinnatus,  Cortlandt  county, 
then  on  the  frontier,  and  for  some  time  led  a  primitive 
backwoods  life.  At  the  age  of  fourteen  he  returned 
to  the  art  typographical,  working  at  the  case  in  sev- 
eral newspaper  offices. 

He  volunteered  in  the  War  of  1812,  serving  as  priv- 
ate; subsequently" established  a  paper  for  himself,  and 
was  the  editor  and  assistant  editor  of  some  twelve 
country  journals.  He  was  violently  opposed  to  Ma- 
sonry, about  which  there  was  so  much  excitement  in 


366  The  Great  Metropolis. 

this  State  in  1826  and  '27,  and  was  twice  elected  to 
the  lower  house  of  the  State  Legislature.  While  there 
he  so  distinguished  himself  as  a  party  manager,  though 
he  seldom  spoke,  that  he  was  regarded  as  a  marveL 
ously  proper  man  to  oppose  the  body  of  Democrats 
known  as  the  Albany  Regency.  He  contributed  very 
largely  to  the  election  of  De  Witt  Clinton,  and  in  1830 
removed  to  the  capital,  where  he  became  the  responsi- 
ble editor  of  the  Evening  Journal^  which  immediately 
rose  to  a  power  in  the  State. 

Since  that  time,  a  period  of  nearly  fifty  years.  Weed 
has  been  constantly  in  politics,  and  a  prominent  figure 
in  public  life.  He  has  never,  save  his  brief  service  in 
the  Legislature,  held  public  office,  though  he  might 
have  had  any  position,  from  Yice-President  and  mem- 
ber of  the  Cabinet  to  that  of  Governor  or  State  Sena- 
tor. And  yet  he  has  been  more  a  maker  of  politicians 
than  any  man  in  the  country,  and  justly  deserves  the 
name  of  the  political  Warwick.  In  politics  he  literally 
lives,  and  moves,  and  has  his  being.  Little  has  ever 
been  done  by  his  party — he  has  always  been  a  Whig 
and  Eepublican — without  his  counsel  and  co-operation. 
He  attends  every  session  of  the  State  Legislature  and 
National  Congress,  and  is  styled  the  greatest  wire-pul- 
ler and  lobbyist  in  the  Union.  He  seems  to  have  more 
offices  in  his  gift  than  the  President  of  the  United 
States,  and  the  Custom  House  of  this  City  appears  for 
many  years  tO/have  been  more  under  his  control  than 
if  he  had  been  the  Collector  of  the  port.  To  obtain 
the  favor  of  Weed  is  to  secure  office,  and  his  smile  and 
frown  have  been  for  five  and  thirty  years  the  delight 
and  terror  of  all  place-seekers  along  the  Hudson. 

It  used  to  be  said  that  no  man  could  be  sent  to  the 


I 


Thurlow  Weed.  367 

Legislature  whom  Weed  could  riot  win  over  to  his  side 
if  he  deemed  it  worth  the  while.  Assemblymen  and 
State  Senators  bitterly  and  ferociously  opposed  to 
Weed,  went'  to  Albany — elected  by  his  most  violent 
enemies — and  before  they  had  been  there  three  months 
they  would  undergo  a  revolution,  coming  to  the  con- 
clusion that  the  great  political  manager  was  one  of  the 
most  mis-represented  men  in  the  Republic.  He  under- 
stands human  nature  thoroughly;  has  admirable  tact 
and  profound,  insight  into  character.  He  flatters  the 
vain ;  supports  the  weak ;  softens  the  bold ;  encourages 
the  timid;  sympathizes  with  the  strong,  and  leads  men 
by  seeming  to  follow  them ;  molds  and  controls  them 
through  their  interest  and  self-love.  Hundreds  of  in- 
stances might  be  given  of  his  adroit  dealing  with  stub- 
born spirits,  wdiom,  in  most  cases,  he  has  brought  over 
to  his  will.     Let  one  suffice. 

A  very  contumacious  fellow  was  sent  to  the  Assem- 
bly who  hated  Weed,  and  who  had  often  declared  he 
would  make  an  expedition  to  the  Bottomless  Pit  before 
he  would  vote  for  anything  Weed  advocated,  and  that 
he  took  no  one's  opinion  but  his  own.  It  happened 
that  T.  W.  wanted  the  man's  vote,  so  he  introduced 
himself  one  morning,  saying:  ''I  have  often  heard  of 
you.  I  know  you  don't  like  me,  and  I  respect  your 
candor.  I  always  esteem  an  open  enemy.  You  are 
one  of  the  few  men  who  are  self-reliant,  have  wills  of 
their  own,  and  won't  be  influenced  by  others.  I  like 
that,  too ;  I  recognize  in  you  a  kindred  spirit.  We 
won't  and  can't  agree,  but  that  is  no  reason  we  should 
quarrel.  Drop  in  and  see  me.  I  enjoy  original  men. 
You  see  I  know  you.  If  you  won't  be  influenced  by 
me,  perhaps  I  can  learn  something  from  you," 


368  The  Great  Metropolis. 

In  less  than  a  week  the  resolute  Assemblyman  was 
carefully  under  the  dominion  of  Weed,  and  believed 
the  eminent  manager  had  actually  taken  his  counsel. 

The  great  Whig  triumvirate  of  Seward,  Weed  and 
Greeley,  had  things  pretty  much  their  own  way  in  this 
State  until  the  last-mentioned  member  of  the  company, 
believing  he  had  been  very  unfairly  treated  by  his 
partners,  dissolved  the  firm,  and  has  since  been  their 
most  persistent  and  uncompromising  foe. 

Greeley  seems  to  hate  Weed  as  if  he  were  a  brother- 
in-law,  and  loses  his  temper  whenever  he  refers  to  him, 
bursting  out  into  such  phrases  as  "the  old  villain  lies, 
and  knows  he  lies,"  with  a  spontaneous  virulence  that 
does  more  honor  to  his  love  of  vigorous  Saxon  than 
his  regard  for  courtesy. 

Since  T.  W.  became  the  editor  of  the  Commercial 
Advertiser^  he  and  H.  G.,  before  Weed  went  abroad,  had 
controversies  almost  weekly ;  and  whatever  may  be  the 
respective  merits  of  the  argument,  the  advantage  of 
manners  is  in  favor  of  Weed.  He  seems  to  be  calm 
and  gentle  compared  to  the  Tribune  chief,  who  raves 
like  a  very  drab  when  contending  against  the  veteran 
of  the  Advertiser.  The  initials  T.  W.  and  H.  G.  appear 
so  supremely  inharmonious  that  it  is  fair  to  suppose 
their  owners  must  have  been  born  under  adverse  plan- 
ets. Those  who  pretend  to  know,  say  Weed  enjoys 
"stirring  up"  his  adversary  very  much  as  a  showman 
does  the  lions,  for  the  sake  of  hearing  them  roar. 

More  than  a  year  ago  Weed  purchased  an  interest 
in  the  Commercial  Advertiser  j  finding  that  he  could 
not  be  satisfied  outside  of  a  newspaper  office.  I  re- 
member, twelve  or  fourteen  years  ago  he  took  leave 
of  the  public  in  the  Albany  Evening  Journal^  closing 


Thurlow  Weed.  369 

with  the  remark  that  he  was  mindful  of  Gil  Bias'  ad- 
vice to  the  Archbishop  of  Granada.  But  he  has  not 
failed  in  power  as  the  vain  prelate  did,  and  he  has  no 
need  yet  of  a  critical  valet  to  inform  him  of  his  decay. 
The  Advertiser  has  much  improved  since  Weed  took 
charge  of  it,  and  is  far  better  than  the  many  who  never 
see  it  suppose.  He  is  one  of  the  few  leader-writers 
who  understand  that  leaders  compared  to  other  parts 
of  a  journal  are  of  small  consequence,  as  they  are  not 
generally  read. 

Weed,  now  in  his  71st  year,  shows  signs  of  age  and 
failing  health,  but  is  ambitious  and  resolute  as  ever. 
He  devotes  only  two  or  three  hours  a  day  to  his  paper, 
having  purchased  an  interest  in  it  more  for  the  purpose 
of  having  a  vehicle  of  expression  than  with  any  view 
of  adding  to  his  fortune.  His  true  throne  was  at  Room 
No.  11,  in  the  Astor  House  (he  has  just  gone  to  the 
Fifth  Avenue  Hotel)  where  he  held  a  perpetual  levee, 
and  where,  on  an  average,  fully  one  hundred  men 
called  daily,  most  of  them  on  political  errands.  The 
ins  were  to  be  found  there  no  less  than  the  outs  with 
every  grade  of  publie  officer,  from  United-States  Sena- 
tor to  deputy  keeper  of  the  Custom  House  coal-cellar, 
seeking  interviews  between  the  hours  of  12  and  3 
o'clock. 

Thurlow  Weed  does  not  look  at  all  like  the  man  one 

would  fancy  him.     Instead  of  a  person  of  presence  and 

high-bred  air,  he  is  a  tall,  thin,  stooping  man,  carelessly 

dressed,  with  shambling  gait,  hurrying  about  as  if  he 

had  a  note  to  pay"  in  fifteen  minutes,  and  wanted  to 

borrow  the  money  of  the  first  stranger  he  encountered. 

He  gives  one  no  impression  of  magnetism ;  and  yet  he 

must  be  a  singularly  magnetic  man  to  wield  so  great 
24 


370  The  Great  Metropolis. 

an  influence  and  exercise  such  unlimited  control  over 
his  fello\ys.  He  seems  to  want  nothing  for  himself,  but 
to  spend  his  life  obtaining  place  for  others.  His  man- 
ners are  very  pleasant.  He  is  extremely  kind-hearted 
and  charitable  in  every  way,  never  rude  or -inconsid- 
erate, making  friends  of  all  who  are  near  him,  and  do- 
ing hundreds  of  good  deeds  of  which  no  one  hears,  and 
he  never  speaks.  His  ambition  is  power;  but  he  seems 
to  use  his  power  mainly  for  others.  His  intimates  are 
greatly  attached  to  him,  and  say  he  is  a  much  abused 
and  thoroughly  upright  man, — political  and  crafty  in 
politics,  but  honorable  and  chivalrous  wherever  his 
word  is  given,  or  his  faith  is  plighted. 

He  married  early,  and  had  three  daughters;  has 
long  been  a  widower,  and  lives  with  his  youngest,  a 
maiden  lady  of  most  estimable  character,  who  has  pre- 
served all  the  records  of  his  life.  Of  these  her  kind 
father  promises  to  make  an  interesting  volume  when 
his  gray -haired  youth  is  over,  and  he  retires  from  act- 
ive and  engrossing  duties.  He  will  never  fulfil  his 
promise.  He  is  too  busy  for  such  a  task.  He  will 
never  have  leisure  to  die,  though  Heath  will  not  be 
talked  over  or  put  off  even  by  Thurlow  Weed,  the  great 
tongue- wagger  to  some  purpose.  He  is  rich,  his  for- 
tune having  been  set  down  at  $2,000,000  to  $3,000,000: 
He  may  not  be  worth  more  than  $1,000,000 ;  for  he 
is  said  to  have  lost  largely  of  late  years.  But,  what- 
ever the  amount  of  his  fortune,  it  is  certain  that  he  has 
been  very  careless  in  its  collection.  '  If  his  mind  had 
been  concerned  about  money-getting  he  might  hav( 
been  as  wealthy  as  Yanderbilt ;  for  he  has  had  oppori 
tunities  to  make  millions,  and,  so  far  as  is  known,  h{ 
surrendered  them  all  to  gratify  his  love  of  power. 


Thurlow  Weed.  371 

He  talks  of  retiring  from  tne  Advertiser^  of  giving 
up  work,  of  living  in  the  country;  but  he  v^on't,  or 
can't,  I  suspect.  He  has  lately  returned  from  Europe, 
and  his  health  is  still  infirm.  He  has  lived  all  his  life 
amid  the  turmoil  and  strife  of  caucuses  and  political 
chambers.  Near  the  bustle  of  Wall  street  and  in  the 
roar  of  Broadway  it  is  fit  he  should  close  the  busy  days, 
which,  with  all  their  ambitions  and  contests,  have  left 
the  gray -haired  Warwick  alive  to  every  form  of  suffer- 
ing, and  tender  as  the  finest  of  women  to  the  heart 
that  needs  help  or  healing  whenever  its  need  is_  made 
known. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 
BLEECKER     STREET 

No  street  in  the  Metropolis  has  changed  more  than 
Bleecker,  especially  west  of  Broadway.  Twenty-five 
years  ago  it  was  the  abode  of  wealth  and  fashion ; 
and  the  then  grand  mansions  stand  conspicuously  in 
the  thoroughfare,  with  a  semblance  of  departed  great- 
ness, and  an  acknowledgment  of  surrendered  splendor. 
The  high  stoops  before  which  private  carriages  stopped, 
and  emptied  loads  of  feminine  fragrance ;  the  broad 
halls  and  airy  drawing-rooms  that  were  trodden  by 
dainty  feet,  and  filled  with  soft  voices  and  voluptuous 
music,  are  profaned  to-day  by  more  common  uses. 
The  old  family  mansions  are  restaurants  or  private  ; 
boarding-houses,  barrooms  or  groceries,  peculiar  phy- 
sicians'  offices  or  midwives'  headquarters. 

The  day  when  Broadway  above  Bleecker  was  the  ^, 
quarter  of  the  mode,  has  long  passed,  and  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  latter  street  has  become  a  synonym  for 
singularity,  if  not  mystery.  The  reputation  of  Bleeck- 
er street  is  not  positively  bad,  as  that  of  Greene  and 
Mercer  and  Houston  street  is  bad ;  but  it  is  question- 
able and  just  a  little  suspicious.  It  is  like  that  of  a 
woman  who  is  much  gossiped  about.     No  one  knows 


Bleecker  Street.  373 

anything  concerning  it ;  no  one  says  anything  direct ; 
no  one  makes  accusation.  But  everybody  has  an 
opinion  in  private,  and  the  presumption  is  against  it. 

The  denizens  of  Bleecker  street  are  in  the  shadow. 
If  the  broad  sunlight  streamed  in  upon  them,  some- 
thing morally  unpleasant  might  be  discovered.  It 
more  resembles  some  of  the  streets  in  Paris  than  any 
other  in  New- York.  It  is  the  haunt  of  ultra  Bohe- 
mians of  both  sexes.  In  the  French  Capital  it  would 
be  termed  the  Rue  des  Mai  tresses,  and  the  name  would 
not  be  inapt.  Much  of  the  atmosphere  of  the  Latin 
Quarter  breathes  through  the  thoroughfare,  and  its 
poverty  is  frescoed  with  the  colors  of  art. 

No  street  is  more  thoroughly  cosmopolitan,  more 
philosophic,  more  romantic.  It  is  the  Great  City  in 
miniature.  Its  photograph  would  be  a  copy  of  the 
features  of  the  Metropolis,  many  of  which  we  are 
prone  to  keep  hidden  from  the  public  view.  A  walk 
through  it  any  day,  from  Eighth  avenue  to  the  Bowery, 
will  convey  to  an  observer  and  man  of  the  world, 
much  of  its  hidden  meaning.  He  will  see  strange 
characters  and  strange  places  that  he  does  not  notice 
elsewhere.  A  certain  free  and  easy  air  will  strike  him 
as  pervading  the  houses  and  shops  and  people.  A 
peculiar  air  fills  and  surrounds  them.  They  are  deco- 
rous enough,  but  insouciant  and  independent.  What 
they  conceal  they  conceal  from  an  art  sense,  not  from 
ethical  motives.  They  tell  you  nothing.  You  may 
conjecture  what  you  may,  and  draw  inferences  to  the 
end  of  time,  and  "Bleecker  street  will  smile  coldly-; 
shrug  its  shoulders,  and  say:  "Perhaps;"  "As  you 
will ;  "  "I  confess  nothing ;  I  deny  nothing ;  "  '^ Hold 
your  own  opinion,  but  keep  it  to  yourself! " 


374"  The  Great  Metropolis. 

You  will  meet  tliere  tlie  neatly,  but  not  studiously- 
dressed  woman,  with  dark  eyes  and  mouth  so  freshly 
and  moistly  red  that  it  will  suggest  carmine  more  than 
health.  She  is  pretty,  but  has  a  self- consciousness  and 
assurance  which  barely  escape  boldness,  and  intimate 
hardness  somewhere.  She  meets  your  gaze  steadily, 
as  if  she  relished  and  were  accustomed  to  admiration. 
Her  glance  expresses,  "I  know  I  am  comely,  if  that 
is  what  you  mean.  If  you  are  fond  of  me,  say  so ; 
such  declarations  I  have  heard  often.  Don't  be  afraid. 
We  women  are  not  the  coy  creatures  you  think  us. 
We  adore  boldness,  for  boldness  wins." 

Don't  you  recognize  her  ?  She  is  the  popular  actress 
whom  many  of  the  critics  praise  far  beyond  her  de- 
serts, because  their  personal  liking  for  her  has  biased 
them.  No  man  can  coldly  judge  a  woman  at  night, 
when  he  expects  the  next  morning  to  be  at  her  feet. 

She  is  a  combination  of  Becky  Sharp  and  Blanche 
Amory.  She  has  had  a  score  of  lovers ;  has  several 
at  this  moment.  Yet  she  makes  each  believe  himself 
the  only  one.  She  dupes  them  charmingly ;  for  she 
is  an  artist  and  a  sentimentalist.  She  is  naturally 
affectionate  and  tender,  and  has  power  to  delude  her-j 
self  as  well  as  her  nearest  friends. 

She  remains  on  the  stage  because  the  stage  lends 
her  a  bewitching  something  that  does  not  belong  to  her.  J 
She  knows  men  are  selfish  and  sensual ;  that  desire 
and  vanity  bind  and  hold  them  more  than  aught  else. 
She  is  generous,  but  not  improvident.  She  is  aware; 
the  day  will  come  when  her  charms  will  fade,  and  hei 
seductive  arts  will  lose  their  potency.  She  is  providj 
ing  for  that  day,  and  the  Winter  will  not  come  witl 
an  ungathered  harvest. 


Bleecker  Street.  3T5 

When  her  lovers  desert  her,  and  the  World  frowns, 
she  will  quit  the  City ;  remove  to  a  distant  town ; 
change  her  name ;  become  a  widow ;  turn  devout  like 
Peg  Woffington ;  do  acts  of  charity  ;  die  esteemed 
and  beloved,  perhaps  a  wife  and*  mother,  perhaps  a 
spinster,  full  of  saintly  virtues. 

The  young  fellow  who  calls  a  carriage  and  steps 
into  it,  redolent  of  perfume,  fresh  from  the  bath  and 
the  barber's,  you  have  seen  often  in  Broad  street.  He 
is  a  stock-broker,  shrewd,  energetic,  rather  unscrupu- 
lous. Men  cannot  deceive  him,  but  women  can,  with- 
out trouble.  He  has  just  come  from  his  mistress' 
chamber,  in  that  hotel  kept  on  the  European  plan. 
He  believes  she  is  his,  sense  and  soul ;  and  he  lavishes 
money  upon  her,  which  she  gives  to  others  of  her  fa- 
vored friends. 

Not  sixty  minutes  since  he  quitted  her ;  and  yet  the 
man  she  really  loves,  mean,  and  despicable,  and  vulgar 
as  he  is,  is  with  her,  and  kissing  away  her  protector's 
kisses.  Vanity  blinds  the  victim.  He  is  infatuated, 
too,  and  would  hardly  trust  his  own  senses  if  they 
contradicted  his  conviction.  Hack-drivers  and  Houston 
street  panders  point  him  out,  and  call  him  a  ''flat" 
as  he  goes  by ;  but  he  swears  she  is  so  loyal  nothing 
can  alienate  her  from  him.  If  conscious  what  commoa 
creatures  he  supplied  with  the  means  of  living,  he 
would  be  wounded \  to  the  core.  He  will  make  the 
discovery  some  time,  and  then  be  clamorous  concern- 
ing woman's  frailty.  Because  a  wanton  isnot  faithful 
to  a  fool,  he  will  vow  the  whole  sex  is  false. 

How  many  men  are  either  too  blindly  confiding  or 
morbidly  skeptical !  They  rarely  learn  the  exact  truth, 
that  between  extremes  Nature  and  Truth  walk  hand- 
in-hand. 


376  The  Great  Metropolis. 

The  ballet  girl  trips  happily  along.  She  is  in  the 
receipt  of  a  regular  salary  from  Niblo's,  and  she  has 
just  awakened  to  the  absorbing  passion  of  her  life. 
She  is  yet  unstained,  though  she  has  for  four  years 
been  employed  at  the  theaters.  She  has  been  assailed 
times  without  number ;  but  she  has  never  loved  till 
noWj  and  she  was  strong,  therefore,  against  temptation. 
Her  heart  now  pleads  against  her,  and  she  cannot  resist 
its  pleadings  long. 

Four  weeks  ago — how  well  she  remembers  the  even- 
ing— she  observed  a  handsome  gentleman  at  the  stage 
door ;  and  since  then  his  face  has  been  looking  into 
hers  in  dreams  by  night  and  dreams  by  day.  The 
second  evening  he  was  introduced  to  her ;  and  ever 
since  he  has  accompanied  her  to  her  lodgings,  and 
kissed  her  at  parting.  Each  time  he  has  lingered  lon- 
ger and  longer,  and  before  another  month  he  will  not 
go  till  morning. 

This  morning  she  is  up  two  hours  earlier  than  usual 
and  off  to  Broadway  without  breakfast,  hoping  to  see 
him  before  she  goes  to  rehearsal.  She  does  see  him  in 
a  carriage,  near  Canal  street,  with  a  proud-looking 
lady,  who  may  be  his  wife ;  but  he  does  not  see  her ; 
at  least  he  does  not  appear  to.  When  they  meet,  she 
mentions  the  circumstance,  and  he,  with  a  confused 
manner,  tells  her  the  lady  is  his  sister.  He  is  afraid  to 
acknowledge  it  is  his  wife,  for  he  has  declared  himself 
a  bachelor. 

Six  months  hence  there  will  be  a  sudden  death  in 
the  stuccoed  building  where  furnished  apartments  are 
rented,  and  the  morning  papers  will  chronicle  the  dis- 
tressing suicide  of  Ada  Allen,  a  ballet  girl  at  Niblo's. 
The  deceased,  they  will  say,  was  beautiful  and  well  edu- 


Bleecker  Street.  377 

cated,  but  for  some  time  past  she  had  been  suffering 
from  low  spirits,  caused,  it  is  thought,  by  an  unfortu- 
nate love  affair.  The  Coroner's  inquest  was  in  accord- 
ance with  the  above  facts. 

Mr.  Myrtle,  junior  partner  of  the  well-known  Church 
street  firm,  reads  the  item  at  his  breakfast  table,  and 
spills  his  coffee  and  his  face  undergoes  a  change. 

"Are  you  ill,  my  dear?"  asks  Mrs.  Myrtle. 

"0,  no  ;  I  saw  the  failure  of  a  house  that  owed  us 
largely.  I  think  I  would  better  hurry  down  town  and 
write  to  the  West  about  if 

And  the  seducer  and  deserter  hurries  into  the  street, 
and  for  fifteen  minutes  feels  like  a  villain.  He  loved  Ada 
all  he  was  capable  of  loving — far  more  than  he  loves 
his  spouse.  But  he  couldn't  remain  with  her  ;  for  some 
of  his  mercantile  friends  were  talking  of  his  mistress 
on  'Change,  and  he  is  a  member  of  a  church,  and  can't 
be  scandalized  by  such  stories,  which  are  the  worse  for 
being  true. 

The  young  fellow  who  looks  darkly  out  upon  the 
fair  day,  and  whom  the  fresh  breeze  does  not  inspire 
with  hope,  is  a  child  of  genius  and  of  melancholy.  He 
has  cause  for  despondency ;  for  he  has  never  had  en- 
couragement. He  is  an  artist,  and  the  picture  he  has 
been  painting  for  three  years  is  finished  at  last,  and  no 
one  pays  the  smallest  attention  to  it.  Thft  subject  is 
singular,  the  coloring  peculiar,  the  treatment  original. 
Hence  criticism  will  be  unfavorable ;  and  he  has  no 
money  to  bring  his  work  into  notice.  At  this  moment 
he  has  not  money  enough  for  a  slender  breakfast,  but 
he  has  for  two  cocktails,  and  he  buys  them  at  the  first 
bar-room.  He  walks  gloomily  over  to  the  East  river, 
and  saunters  along  the  pilers,  and  wonders  what  w411 


378  The  Great  Metropolis. 

become  of  him.  "If  the  worst  come  to  the  worst," 
he  thinks,  "I  can  jump  off,  and  that  will  be  the  end. 
Ambition,  poverty,  neglect  can't  trouble  me  in  the 
grave.     The  river  will  be  the  remedy  when  all  else 

fails.     But   I   won't   fail,  by .     I'll  struggle  on. 

The  World  shall  recognize  me.  I'll  keep  on.  While 
there  is  life,  there  is  hope." 

The  resolution,  inspired  by  his  double  drink,  saves 
him.  He  never  desponds  after  that,  and  he  is  ulti- 
mately born  to  fame  and  fortune.  Let  no  one  de- 
nounce cocktails.  They  have  some  virtues  to  offset 
their  many  vices ;  they  preserve  as  well  as  destroy, 
though  they  slay  hundreds  where  they  save  a  single 
soul. 

Bleecker  street  is  the  place  of  rendezvous  for  count- 
less illegitimate  lovers.  Husbands  meet  other  men's 
wives;  wives  meet  other  women's  husbands.  And 
young  people  who  love  too  little  or  too  much  for  wed- 
lock find  consolation  in  each  other's  company  in  that 
peculiar  quarter.  Bleecker  street  asks  no  questions. 
Every  man  and  woman  who  are  together  it  supposes 
have  a  right  to  be  together  by  a  higher,  if  not  enacted 
law.  Privacy  can  always  be  had  for  a  price,  and  many 
wives  are  unwedded  there. 

The  couples  who  disappear,  or  are  seen  in  Bleecker 
street  are  pf  esumed  to  be  mutually  fond.  No  one  makes 
comment  on  their  relation,  but  few  are  there  who  do 
not  suspect  its  character.  The  first  thought  of  many 
an  intrigue  has  arisen  from  a  vision  in  that  neighbor- 
hood. But  those  who  detect  others  are  themselves  de- 
tected, and  guilt  can  keep  its  own  secret. 

Many  representatives  of  art  of  some  kind  repair  to 
Bleecker  street  for  the  cheapness  of  its  accommodations 


i 


Bleecker  Street.  379 

as  well  as  for  the  freedom  of  its  life.  Poor  scribblers 
and  scholars,  painters  and  engravers,  actors  and  poets 
may  be  found  in  its  lodgings.  Some  fare  sumptuous- 
ly on  second  floors;  have  wine  and  dainties  and  ser- 
vants But  most  dwell  in  rear  rooms  and  garrets,  and 
lead  that  careless  and  reckless,  but  rather  gay  career 
for  which  the  artist  tribe  is  famous.  They  enter  their 
apartments  at  all  hours  save  those  that  are  early,  often 
in  care  of  companions  less  tipsy  than  they,  and  often 
in  charge  of  policemen  who  claim  to  appreciate  the 
ornamental  above  the  useful  class. 

The  rented  apartments  are  scenes  of  wild  carnival 
at  times.  When  their  occupants  have  a  "streak  of 
luck,"  they  invite  boon  companions  of  both  sexes ;  and 
cards,  and  chat,  and  song,  and  sentiment  make  wassail 
through  the  night,  and  the  dawn  finds  dissipation  run- 
ning into  riot. 

"I  lodge  in  Bleecker  street"  is  a  biography  in  brief 
If  he  who  says  it  be  poor,  the  reason  is  apparent.  If 
he  be  prosperous,  his^  morality  is  questioned  at  once. 
And  yet  Bleecker  street  is  respectable  enough,  if  one 
have  no  insight  into  character  and  conditions.  Indeed, 
the  thoroughfare  is  so  delicately  unique  you  can  hardly 
make  any  positive  statement  in  regard  to  it.  Many 
very  staid  and  amiable  and  conventional  people  in- 
habit it ;  but  it  is  so  much  a  favorite  with  those  who 
are  a  law  and  a  religion  to  themselves  that  it  has  gained 
a  reputation  for  irregularity  because  of  non  conformity. 

Whatever  Bleecker  street  is  or  is  not,  it  is  ex- 
tremely broad.  That  will  not  be  denied.  The  free- 
dom there  of  every  sort  is  absolute  ;  and  if  you  seek 
to  be  independent  of  opinion,  above  scandal,  preserved 
from  criticism,  become  a  dweller  in  its  confines.     You 


380  The  Great  Metropolis. 

can  do,  or  refrain  from  doing,  what  you  like.  You 
can  come  home  at  sunrise  roaring  out  bacchanalian 
songs.  You  can  have  half-a-dozen  dubious  relations. 
You  can  appear  half  disrobed  at  noonday,  you  can 
set  public  opinion  and  private  prejudice  at  defiance. 
You  can  keep  a  trombone,  and  play  on  it  at  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  You  can  select  a  dozen  bass 
singers,  and  order  them  to  execute  the  "Bay  of  Bis- 
cay, 0!"  to  the  inspiration  of  whisky  punch,  from 
midnight  to  early  breakfast  time,  and  not  a  soul  will 
complain. 

Every  lodger  in  Bleecker  street  gives  and  takes. 
They  believe  in  the  largest  possible  liberty  to  each  in- 
dividual. If  Mr.  Jones  disturb^  Mr.  Smith  to-night, 
Mr.  Smith  will  endeavor  to  drive  Mr.  Jones  distracted 
the  night  following.  But  he  won't.  The  residents  of 
Bleecker  street  are  not  to  be  distracted.  If  they  are 
annoyed,  they  will  either  bear  it  philosophically,  or  go 
somewhere  else  until  the  annoyance  is  over.  They 
rudely  imitate  the  Platonic  rejjablic ;  and  if  they  fail 
of  their  ideal,  they  strive  to  endure  the  actual  with 
the  best  grace  and  in  the  best  spirit  that  their  own 
temperaments  and  the  gods  will  permit. 


i 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 
NASSAU    STREET. 

There  could  be  no  mirror  of  Manhattan  that  did  not 
present  the  image  of  Nassau  street — one  of  the  most 
peculiar  and  striking  thoroughfares  in  New- York. 
Only  ten  blocks  long,  it  probably  contains  more  va- 
rieties of  architecture,  business  and  character  than  any 
street  of  its  extent  in  America.  Beginning  with  the 
Treasury  and  a  banking-house,  it  ends  with  the  Trih- 
une  and  Tammany  hall — though  the  latter  is  rapidly 
undergoing  the  process  of  ultimate  extinction. 

Crooked,  contracted,  unclean,  with  high  houses  and 
low  houses,  marble  palaces  and  dingy  frames,  it  re- 
minds one  more  of  a  street  in  an  old  Continental  town 
than  of  a  popular  thoroughfare  in  the  new  Republic. 
But  there  the  resemblance  ends ;  for  in  no  European 
city — unless  in  London,  perhaps — could  such  a  strange 
stream  of  humanity  be  flowing  and  overflowing  for  ten 
or  twelve  hours  of  every  day  in  the  week. 

Nassau  street  is  New- York  in  miniature  even  more 
than  Broadway.  Its  contrasts  are  more  observable, 
and  its  mottled  life  is  more  intense.  By  a  singular 
blunder,  explicable  only  by  the  fact  that  it  was  made 
in  Gotham,  one  of  the  smallest  and  most  inconvenient 
streets  in  the  City  has  been  appropriated  to  the  trans- 


382  The  Great  Metropolis. 

action  of  an  immense  business,  to  which  the  same 
space  in  Canal  street  would  hardly  be  adequate. 

Think  of  the  Post-office,  where  nearly  a  million  of 
letters  are  mailed  and  received  every  twenty-four 
hours,  a  number  of  the  largest  banking-houses,  four  or 
five  of  the  leading  newspapers,  one  or  two  hotels,  a 
dozen  auction  rooms,  and  hundreds  of  places  of  con- 
stant ingress  and  egress,  in  an  irregular,  ill-paved  lane, 
less  than  half  a  mile  long ;  and  exercise  your  skepti- 
cism touching  the  wisdom  of  the  three  wise  men  of 
Gotham  who  put  to  sea  in  a  bowl !  My  own  impression 
is,  that  their  notion  of  sufficient  space,  as  shown  in 
their  nautical  expedition,  was  reflected  in  Nassau  street, 
in  whose  unfitness  to  do  what  it  is  called  upon  to 
perform  I  am  persuaded  that  trio  had  some  hand.  The 
truth  is,'  however,  Nassau  street  is  not  so  much  to 
blame  as  is  the  City  for  outgrowing  it,  and  turning  the 
brain  of  the  begrimed  little  quarter  with  sights  and 
sounds  it  never  expected,  in  its  early  years,  either  to 
hear  or  see.  The  great  Metropolis  has,  like  the  hun- 
gry sea,  gone  roaring  up  the  arid  wastes  of  the  north- 
ern part  of  the  island,  and  left  Nassau  street  whirling 
in  its  eddies,  hopelessly  and  helplessly. 

One  gets  but  little  impression  of  what  Nassau  street 
really  is  by  passing  through  it,  even  if  he  go  from  end 
to  end  a  dozen  times  between  breakfast  and  dinner. 
Its  unseen  life  is  more  curious  than  that  which  surges 
over  its  sidewalks.  It  has  more  back-offices,  and  upper 
stories  and  creaking  stairways,  and  cobwebby  corners, 
and  dingy  crannies,  and  undreamed  of  lofts,  and  out- 
of-the-way  places  generally,  than  could  be  found  in  all 
of  Dickens's  novels. 

Buildings  have  grown  bronzed    and  gray  in  'the 


Nassau  Street.  383 

street,  and  no  mortal  save  the  occupants  is  conscious 
who  inhabits  them.  Indeed,  the  persons  on  the  first 
floor  are  as  ignorant  of  those  on  tlie  second,  and  those 
on  the  second  of  those  on  the  tliird,  as  they  are  of  the 
appearance  of  the  lackeys  in  Buckingham  palace. 

Down  at  the  street-door  one  may  read  a  bewildering 
number  of  signs  assuming  to  direct  him  to  B.  F.  Betts, 
counselor  at  Law ;  George  Bishop,  publisher ;  Henry 
Wisch,  fruit-seller;  Stephen  Craig,  artist;  J.  P.  Lud- 
low, dealer  in  French  engravings ;  Myron  Burt,  stock- 
broker; A.  B.  Weibel,  gold-beater;  Julius  Wilson, 
manufacturer  of  jewelry  ;  A.  Alexander  Wissop,  agent 
literary  bureau ;  Thomas  Markworth,  translator  of  for- 
eign languages;  W.  W.  Young,  Boarding-house  bro- 
ker; George  Bridges  Brown,  matrimonial  agent,  and 
forty  other  persons  and  places  no  one  has  ever  thought 
about  or  suspected  the  existence  of 

You  begin  to  have  a  realizing  sense  of  what  the 
Egyptian  and  Cretan  labyrinths  might  have  been,  if 
you  undertake  to  find  any  one  in  the  upper  stories  of 
Nassau  street.  You  wonder  why  felons  for  whom 
great  rewards  have  been  offered  do  not  seek  sanctuary 
there.  If  Wilkes  Booth  had  only  changed  his  name 
and  taken  an  office  anywhere  between  Spruce  and 
Liberty  streets,  he  would  have  been  forever  safe. 
What  is  the  State  of  Virginia  to  Nassau  street  as  a 
hiding  place ! 

Men  there  have  become  bent  with  years,  hollow- 
eyed  and  wrinkled,  going  in  and  out  of  mysterious 
passages,  leading — who  knows  whither  ?  And  yet  no 
one  is  aware  of  their  occupation,  or  cares  either.  They 
seem  not  to  care  themselves.  They  appear  born  to 
come  into  and  go  out  of  Nassau  street  all  their  lives 
long,  with  no  destiny  beyond. 


384  The  Great  Metropolis. 

The  being  and  calling  of  our  fellows  are  concealed 
from  us  as  the  animalculse  in  whatever  we  eat,  or  touch, 
or  breathe.  In  the  vast  workshops  of  cities  we  hear 
the  din  and  see  the  smoke ;  but  we  never  stop  to  think 
what  the  busy  creatures  busy  themselves  about. 

I  have  often  penetrated  the  lofty  darknesses  of  Nas- 
sau street,  and  returned  to  the  lower  light  with  sur- 
prised remembrances.  I  have  witnessed  strange  sights 
there  that  I  cannot  describe  ;  beheld  strange  things 
I  may  not  name.  Curious  needs  has  this  planet  of 
ours,  and  extraordinary  are  the  demands  it  makes 
upon  the  rarest  ingenuity  of  vice. 

Young  and  old  men  toiled  in  rear  rooms  and  gar- 
rets over  tasks  that  taxed  the  senses  and  the  brain. 
Women  did  offices  of  trust  because  their  labor  could 
be  had  cheaper,  and  children  ran  hither  and  thither 
oiling  the  wheels  within  wheels  that  connect  Nassau 
street  with  the  machinery  of  the  outer  world. 

No  where  else  in  New-York  are  as  many  persons  in 
business  crowded  together.  In  a  single  building  are 
professions  enough  to  fit  out  a  good-sized  town.  No 
corner  into  which  a  cat  could  crawl  is  unoccupied. 
Every  square  inch  of  ground  and  floor  is  used  to  the 
best  advantage.  The  rooms  grow  smaller  and  reach 
higher  with  each  succeeding  year.  A  large  part  of 
New-York  seems  resolved  to  wedge  itself  into  the 
miscellaneously  crowded  quarter;  and  the  building- 
fronts  glare  with  signs,  until  all  the  painters  appear  to 
have  set  up  their  specimens  there  for  the  admiration 
and  confusion  of  passers-by. 

Such  a  hodge-podge  of  occupations,  such  an  ollapo- 
drida  of  interests,  such  a  salmagundi  of  people  was  there 
ever  before  within  such  confines?  Persons  may  keep  out 


Nassau  Street.  385 

of  Broadway ;  but  they  can't  out  of  Nassau  street.  Due 
concern,  or  desire,  or  obligation  will  lead  or  drive  you 
there  every  week  or  two,  however  isolated  or  humble 
your  life  may  be. 

It  is  a  strong  whirlpool  of  bankers  and  newsboys, 
of  journalists  and  beggars,  of  government  officials  and 
boot-blacks,  of  public  men  and  private  nobodies,  of 
policemen  and  pretty  women,  of  capitalists  and  bar- 
keepers, of  auctioneers  and  thieves,  of  shoulder-hitters 
and  courtesans,  of  poets  and  rag-gatherers,  of  artists 
and  all  sorts  of  people.  And  then  all  nationalities  are 
represented;  for  the  Post-office  draws  foreigners  of 
every  tongue  to  look  for  letters.  So  your  ear  is 
greeted  with  Italian,  and  German,  and  Spanish,  and 
Dutch,  and  French,  and  Portuguese,  and  even  Arabic, 
Turkish,  Greek  and  Chinese  drop  their  strange  sylla- 
bles like  pebbles  into  the  seething  sea. 

Everybody  is  in  haste  when  he  enters  Nassau  street ; 
for  no  one  goes  there  without  business,  and  no  one 
wishes  to  stay  there  after  he  has  completed  it.  It  has 
no  tide  like  Broadway.  People  hurry  up  and  down 
the  side-walk  and  in  the  street,  from  one  side  to  the 
other,  apparently  without  any  clear  perception  of  what 
they  are  doing  or  where  they  are  going.  Not  so, 
however.  There  are  few  idlers  or  loungers  in  Nassau 
street.  They  who  fill  it  have  a  clear  purpose.  They 
are  in  earnest,  have  motive  and  their  cue,  and  are 
shrewdly  adapting  means  to  ends. 

There  each  man  is  emphatically  for  himself,  and 
indifferent  to  his  neighbors.  No  one  considers  himself 
bound  by  the  common  laws  of  politeness.  No  one 
explains  or  apologizes  for  mistakes  or  indecencies. 
They  are  inevitable  to  the  street  which,  by  reason  of 

25 


386  The  Great  Metropolis. 

its  narrowness  and  inconvenience,  bears  all  the  respon- 
sibility. If  you  don't  want  your  hat  knocked  off,  or 
your  boots  trodden  on,  or  your  coat  torn,  or  your  nose 
thumped,  or  your  eyes  put  out,  don't  go  to  Nassau 
street.  They  indulge  in  those  pleasantries  there  in 
self-defense.  Hats,  and  boots,  and  garments,  and 
noses,  and  eyes  have  their  natural  rights,  no  doubt, 
but  you  must  seek  other  localities  to  have  them  re- 
spected. 

Patience  under  affront  and  injury  is  the  reigning 
and  necessary  virtue  of  Nassau  street. 

I  have  seen  sensitive  and  impetuous  gentlemen  who, 
in  the  Avenue,  would  have  knocked  the  fellow  down 
that  looked  displeasure,  submit,  without  a  murmur,  to 
be  hurled  against  a  lamp-post  until  their  spine  cracked, 
in  Nassau  street.  I  have  noticed  delicate  dandies, 
with  lavender  kids,  violets  in  button-hole,  breathing 
dainty  odors,  upset  by  an  ash-cart,  and  smile  serenely 
in  the  gutter.  I  have  known  nervous  capitalists  to 
have  their  pockets  picked,  without  ever  turning  to 
look  at  the  rogue  who  robbed  them.  They  cared 
nothing  about  it.  And  if  they  did,  the  operation  in 
which  they  were  engaged  was  too  important  to  permit 
attention  to  trifles,  or  even  serious  affairs  involving 
delay. 

Men  who  want  to  borrow  millions;  who  wish  to 
mail  a  letter  clandestinely  to  their  mistress ;  who  have 
an  article  for  the  Tribune  or  Post  on  the  national 
debt,  designed  to  electrify  the  Republic;  who  are 
looking  for  a  cheap  cake  of  soap,  or  a  cool  glass  of 
beer,  or  are  in  quest  of  luncheon,  or  about  to  consult 
their  lawyer,  or  sell  a  picture,  or  search  for  a  black- 
letter  volume,  all  rush  to  Nassau  street.     They  can  get 


Nassau  Street.  387 

anything  there,  from  a  splashed  pair  of  trowsers  to 
half  the  five-twenty  loan,  from  a  cutaneous  disease  to 
a  seat  in  Congress. 

In  consequence  of  the  extreme  narrowness  of  the 
streets,  peddlers  and  hawkers  of  cheap  wares  are  per- 
mitted to  occupy  stands  on  the  sidewalks,  and  crowd 
pedestrians  off.  Stationers  abound  there,  and  so  pla- 
card their  goods  that  you  are  induced  to  believe  you 
can  write  all  your  days,  be  they  as  many  as  Methu- 
selah's, for  fifty  cents  in  the  currency  of  the  treasury. 
Yiands  of  every  kind  are  advertised  liberally,  along- 
side of  bulletins  of  the  newspaper  offices,  informing 
you  of  attempts  on  the  life  of  the  Pope  and  Yictoria, 
and  another  revolution  in  Mexico. 

Newsboys  play  hide-and-seek  between  your  legs 
while  you  are  endeavoring  to  grasp  the  hand  of  your 
friend,  (just  returned  from  Japan,)  separated  from 
you  by  a  box  of  books  thrown  from  a  truck  the  mo- 
ment you  said  "How  are  you,  old  boy?"  Your  com- 
panion offers  you  a  cigar  he  will  guarantee  to  be  im- 
ported ;  and,  while  you  are  taking  your  first  connois- 
seur-like whiff,  it  is  dashed  into  the  face  of  an  elderly 
man  in  a  white  coat,  (one  of  the  greatest  sharpers  in 
Wall  street,  by  the  by,)  who  looks  benignly  at  the 
sparks,  and  ventures  the  opinion  that  it  is  a  warm 
day. 

A  malignant  urchin  in  the  form  of  a  boot-black,  puts 
a  "shine"  upon  your  white  pantaloons  as  you  are 
wedged  into  a  corner,  and  coolly  asks  for  fifteen  cents 
for  "doin'  it  extray,  boss." 

One  of  the  features  of  Nassau  street  is  its  old  book- 
stores, where  more  curious  and  antique  volumes  can 
be  unearthed  than  in  all  the  rest  of  the  country.     Their 


388  The  Great  Metropolis. 

proprietors  look  as  if  tliey  were  specially  intended  for 
the  business,  being  usually  old,  snuff-taking,  seedy, 
abstracted  creatures,  with  soiled  fingers,  and  spectacles 
balanced  on  the  extremities  of  their  nose.  They 
occupy  dingy  quarters,  and  have  a  passion  for  rum- 
maging among  worm-eaten,  dogs-eared,  large-typed 
tomes  when  they  have  no  customers.  Those  customers 
are  often  like  themselves — bibliomaniacs,  who  talk 
erudition  to  the  shop-keepers  until  they  forget  what 
they  wanted. 

Not  a  few  of  the  proprietors  of  the  stores  are  mod- 
em-looking, well-dressed  men,  who  appear  literary, 
but  wide-awake  and  genial — nothing  of  the  Dominie 
Sampson  about  them.  They  are  of  the  progressive 
school — ^men  who  live  in  the  present  as  well  as  the 
past — who  think  and  write,  as  well  as  read  and  quote. 

No  single  article  can  do  justice  to  Nassau  street ;  it 
is  so  diversified,  and  unique,  and  heterogeneously- 
homogeneous. 

Imagine  a  hundred  thousand  people  going  to  the 
Post-office  and  coming  away ;  twenty  thousand  hurrying 
to  the  vast  banking  quarter  that  bounds  the  street  on 
the  south ;  the  busy  crowd  having  business  with  the 
daily  press;  the  concourse  that  is  hungry  and  thirsty, 
and  hastening  to  luncheon  and  drinks ;  the  multitude 
who  seek  legal  counsel,  who  need  boots  and  shoes, 
books  and  papers,  pictures  and  pocket-knives,  anything 
and  everything,  indeed,  between  love  and  liquor,  lite- 
rature and  lager — and  you  will  have  some  faint  notion 
of  the  immense  gathering  between  Frankfort  and 
Wall  streets. 

Nassau  street  has  material  enough  for  half  a  dozen 
volumes,  if  it  were  written  up  thoroughly ;  and  Eugene 


Nassau  Street.  389 

Sue,  (were  he  alive,)  and  Dickens,  and  Wilkie  Collins, 
could  find  better  matter  for  plots  there  than  they  have 
ever  wrought.  How  many  startling  cases  at  law,  how 
many  mysterious  investments,  how  many  dramatic 
characters,  how  many  profound  intrigues,  how  many 
heroes  and  heroines  full  of  laughter  and  tears,  would 
they  reveal ! 

But  the  writer,  who  is  too  indolent  to  soar,  and  too 
weary  to  examine,  is  kinder  than  those  geniuses.  He 
makes  the  outlines,  and  leaves  the  rest  to  the  imagin- 
ation. 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 
THE     HOTELS. 

Hotel  life  as  it  exists  in  this  country  is  unknown  in 
Europe,  and  foreigners  have  no  idea  of  its  extent  and 
peculiarities. 

In  Great  Britain  and  on  the  Continent,  hotels  are, 
for  the  most  part,  small  and  quiet,  and  much  more 
home-like  than  in  the  United- States.  Only  strangers 
and  travelers  occupy  them,  and  a  few  days  or  weeks 
includes  their  longest  stay.  No  one  thinks  of  remain- 
ing in  them  permanently,  least  of  all  with  a  wife  and 
family ;  while,  in  our  cities,  a  hotel  is  the  only  home 
that  thousands  of  our  citizens  know  or  care  to  have. 

Americans,  although  they  fancy  themselves  such,  are 
not  a  domestic  people,  those  residing  in  cities  and  towns 
at  least.  They  are  strongly  attached  to  their  country, 
but  not  to  their  own  firesides,  or  to  fixed  localities  usu- 
ally made  sacred  by  associations. 

Wherever  an  American  is  to  be  for  twenty-fourj 
hours,  there  is  his  home.  He  is  a  kind  of  civilized] 
Bedouin,  who  carries  his  home  in  his  trunk,  the  lawj 
and  the  constitution  in  his  revolver,  and  his  religion  in 
his  disposition  to  do  as  he  pleases. 

Americans  like  to  talk  of  home — to  honor  it  in  prose 
and  verse;  but  it  is  rather  a  sentimental  idea  with 
them  than  a  living  reality.     They  resemble  their  coun- 


f 


The  Hotels.  391 

tryman  Payne,  author  of  "Home,  Sweet  Home."  The 
man  whose  song  will  always  touch  the  heart  and  mois- 
ten the  eye  never  had  a  home ;  was  a  wanderer  all  his 
years,  and  died  at  last  in  a  foreign  land. 

The  American  is  at  home  on  the  back  of  a  camel  in 
the  midst  of  an  Arabian  desert;  smoking  his  pipe  on 
the  summit  of  the  Himalayas ;  swinging  in  the  branches 
of  the  bamboo  in  India,  or  whistling  "  Yankee  Doodle" 
among  the  ruins  of  the  Coliseum. 

In  New- York,  hotel  life  has  breadth,  and  variety, 
and  uniqueness  that  it  has  no  where  else.  It  is  a  pe- 
culiar form  of  existence,  and  its  characters  vary  like 
the  leaves  of  Autumn. 

There  cannot  be  less  than  seven  or  eight  hundred 
hotels,  all  told,  in  the  Metropolis,  though  fifty  or  sixty 
would  include  those  that  are  very  well  known.  Twen- 
ty-five or  thirty  of  them  are  considered  in  every  re- 
spect first-class  and  fashionable ;  that  is,  their  patrons 
are  generally  well-dressed,  and  able  and  willing  to  pay 
extravagant  prices.  Nearly  every  prominent  house 
has  its  special  customers  and  characteristics,  and  fur- 
nishes a  field  for  the  study  of  a  different  phase  of  hu- 
man nature. 

A  popular  fallacy  of  the  day  is,  that  one  must  go  to 
the  country  for  comfort.  The  truth  is,  that  whatever 
is  good  or  dainty,  or  desirable  there,  of  a  material 
kind,  is  brought  to  the  city.  The  country  is  stripped 
to  supply  the  great  centers.  The  farmers  and  garden- 
ers cannot  afford  to  consume  their  own  products  when 
the  towns  will  pay  so  liberally  for  the  gratification  of 
the  senses. 

Probably  no  such  luxury  can  be  found  anywhere  as 
at  a  New- York  hotel,  if  you  have  the  means  and  dis- 


392  The  Great  Metropoli3. 

position  to  pay  for  it.  You  can  get  almost  anything 
the  vegetable  or  animal  kingdom  contains.  Take  your 
seat  at  the  table;  fee  the  waiter;  call  for  whatever  the 
Earth  bears,  and  in  less  than  five  minutes  it  will  be 
before  you.  All  climes  will  ripen,  all  vessels  come 
freighted  for  you  from  every  sea. 

Many  of  our  hotels  have  national  reputations ;  and, 
at  least  once  a  year,  American  life  from  all  the  other 
cities  streams  through  their  corridors,  chambers,  and 
ordinaries. 

At  a  New-York  hotel,  you  are  likely  to  meet  ac- 
quaintances you  have  not  seen  for  ten  or  twelve  years ; 
the  friend  that  helped  you  out  of  that  unpleasant  diffi- 
culty at  San  Francisco ;  the  odd-looking  personage 
who  lighted  his  cigar  from  jours  at  the  base  of  the 
Matterhorn ;  the  blonde  beauty  who  flirted  with  you 
for  a  month  in  Vienna,  and  disappeared  mysteriously 
from  the  steamei'  on  the  Danube. 

The  Astor  House  is  probably  the  best  known,  the 
most  historic  hotel  in  the  Republic;  and,  strange  to  say, 
though  35  years  old,  it  still  fully  retains  its  reputation 
as  a  first-class  house.  Twenty  years  ago,  the  Astor 
monopolized  nearly  all  good  hotel-keeping  in  the  coun- 
try, and  to  visit  New-York  meant  to  go  there  of  neces- 
sity. Col.  Charles  A.  Stetson,  still  the  ornamental 
landlord,  though  his  sons  are  the  proprietors,  took  it  a 
few  months  after  its  opening.  He  says  he  used  to 
shake  his  carpets  in  Chambers  street,  and  was  glad  to 
obtain  full  boarders  at  three  dollars  a  week. 

All  the  distinguished  men  in  the  country,  from  Hen- 
ry Clay  and  Daniel  Webster  down  to  Gen.  Grant  and 
Secretary  Seward,  have  been  guests  of  the  Astor. 
Stetson  is  full  of  reminiscences  and  anecdotes  of  famous 


^ 


The  Hotels.  393 

politicians  and  statesmen,  living  and  dead,  and  could 
compile  an  interesting  volume  of  his  experiences  and 
recollections.  He  is  a  capital  talker,  and  would  have 
made  a  most  popular  stump-speaker, — a  vocation  for 
which  he  was  eminently  fitted,  and  which,  for  his  repu- 
tation's sake,  he  ought  to  have  embraced. 

The  Astor  has  always  been,  and  is  still,  the  head- 
quarters for  politicians,  which  may  be  partially  ac- 
counted for  by  the  fact  that  Stetson  feels  a  lively  inter- 
est in  politics,  and  that  Thurlow  Weed  was  for  thirty 
years  a  boarder  in  the  house.  Meetings  and  caucuses, 
especially  of  the  Republicans,  are  held  there  constantly, 
and  Weed  gave  audiences  from  the  first  of  January  to 
"the  thirty-first  of  December. 

Many  old-fashioned  people  usually  stay  at  the  Astor, 
— those  who  have  been  "putting  up"  there  for  the  last 
quarter  of  a  century,  and  could  not  be  induced  to  so- 
journ anywhere  else. 

A  score  or  more  of  wealthy  bachelors,  from  thirty  to 
seventy,  are  generally  permanent  guests  of  the  Astor, 
which  seems,  too,  to  be  a  favorite  with  journalists  at 
home  and  abroad,  and  of  many  varieties  of  the  literary 
class. 

The  St.  Nicholas  is  an  extremely  popular  caravan- 
sera.  Every  one  goes  there ;  and  in  its  spacious  halls 
and  dining-rooms  you  can  encounter  the  representa- 
tives of  every  State.  Western  people  have  a  prefer- 
ence for  the  St.  Nicholas,  and  southerners  used  to 
have ;  but  they  have  lately  gone  further  up  Broadway. 
Fast  persons  affecrt  it  a  good  deal ;  and  you  are  likely 
to  encounter  more  pinchbeck  material  there  than  at 
any  other  house  on  the  great  thoroughfare. 

The  hotel  is  elaborately  furnished,  but  too   much 


394  The  Great  Metropolis. 

given  to  show  and  something  necarly  resembling  taw- 
driness.  After  the  late  dinner,  before  the  places  of 
amusement  are  open,  the  halls,  and  saloon,  and  read- 
ing-room of  the  St.  Nicholas  resemble  a  human  bee- 
hive, and  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  the  building  is  so 
crowded  with  loungers  that  it  is  difficult  to  pass. 

No  hotel  in  town  does  a  larger  or  more  profitable 
business;  and  it  has  already  made  fortunes  for  half  a 
dozen  different  proprietors.  When  it  was  first  opened, 
fifteen  or  sixteen  years  ago,  it  was  all  the  rage ;  but 
new  houses  were  built,  and  the  City  grew  and  ex- 
panded, and  the  tide  -^-ushed  by  it  to  Fourteenth  street 
and  Madison  square. 

The  Metropolitan  is  the  resort  of  Californians  and 
people  from  the  new  States  and  Territories,  of  men 
engaged  in  mining  and  mining  interests,  in  quartz- 
crushers  and  Pacific  railways.  The  patrons  of  the 
Metropolitan  are- peculiar  and  individual-looking;  are 
remarkable  for  bronzed  complexions,  the  consumption 
of  tobacco,  nervous  energy  of  manner,  and  liberal  dis- 
play of  jewelry.  They  give  you  the  impression  of  men 
who  have  made  and  lost  fortunes;  who  have  had 
strange  experiences  and  desperate  adventures;  who 
would  spend  the  last  ten  dollars  they  had  in  the  world 
for  a  bottle  of  wine,  play  poker  with  you  at  a  thousand 
dollars  ante,  or  fight  a  duel  with  you  in  the  dark  for 
the  sake  of  the  sensation. 

Such  are  the  people  most  conspicuous  about  the 
hotel,  in  the  office,  on  the  steps  and  in  the  smoking- 
room  ;  but  a  great  many  quiet  people  from  the  country 
and  the  large  cities  fare  sumptuously  and  spend  prodi- 
gally at  the  corner  of  Broadway  and  Prince  street. 

The  New- York,  particularly  since  the  War,  has  been 


The  Hotels.  395 

the  staying-place  of  southerners  and  those  who  sympa- 
thize with  them, — indeed,  of  the  traveling  Democracy 
generally,  whether  for  or  against  the  rebels,  from  every 
point  of  the  compass.  Hiram  Cranston,  the  proprietor, 
has  long  been  a  noted  Democratic  politician,  and  is 
personally  known  to  and  popular  with  the  prominent 
members  of  his  party. 

The  New-York  is  a  sort  of  offset  to  the  Astor,  and 
Cranston  to  Stetson ;  and  its  reputation  is  such  that 
the  politics  of  a  man  who  registers  his  name  at  that 
house  almost  ceases  to  be  a  matter  of  doubt. 

The  hotel  is  one  of  the  best  kept  in  the  City,  and 
attracts  many  persons,  independent  of  politics,  by  the 
excellency  of  its  table  and  the  comfort  of  its  internal 
arrangements. 

The  Fifth  Avenue  is,  par  eminence,  the  great  fash- 
ionable hotel  of  New- York,  and  is  the  haunt  and  home 
of  stock  operators  and  gold  speculators,  where  they 
may  be  found  after  dinner,  when  the  Mammon  temples 
in  Broad  street  have  shut  their  doors.  New-England 
and  the  residents  of  this  State  go  there  a  great  deal ; 
and  of  late,  Chicago,  Cincinnati  and  the  other  Western 
cities  have  sought  refuge  at  that  shimmering  shrine. 
Among  the  great  hotels  on  the  American  plan,  the 
Fifth  Avenue  is  the  mode ;  and  consequently  inter- 
spersed with  really  elegant  people,  one  encounters  there 
some  absurd  specimens  of  parvenuism. 

Ill-breeding  never  appears  so  ill  as  when  it  is  heavily 
gilded ;  and  the  well-fed  guests  of  the  Fifth  Avenue 
are  often  amused,  and  then  disgusted,  with  the  preten- 
tious commonalty  they  cannot  escape. 

The  corridors  of  that  hotel  swarm  like  those  of  the 
St.  Nicholas;  but  no  one  down  stairs  ever  talks  about 


396  The  Great  Metropolis. 

anything  but  the  closing  rate  of  gold,  and  the  next 
contest  in  Erie.  The  last  bulletins  are  always  on  the 
walls;  and  dozens  of  men  are  constantly  scanning 
them,  and  wondering  what  turn  the  market  will  take 
to-morrow. 

On  the  second  floor,  the  scene  is  different;  for  there 
the  other  sex  hold  sway,  and  the  men,  weary  of  talking- 
business,  ascend  to  the  handsome,  brilliantly-lighted 
parlors,  and  chat  and  flirt  with  the  women  they  may 
chance  to  recognize.  The  gentle  fair  are  elaborately 
attired,  look  their  fairest,  and  act  their  sweetest, — fre- 
quently failing  of  interest  by  their  excessive  effort  to 
be  engaging, — while  their  gallants  seem  delighted, 
and  tell  their  fashionable  charmers  everything  but  the 
truth. 

The  hours  from  8  to  11  and  12  o'clock  are  devoted 
to  gossip,  gallantry  and  gayety ;  and  no  other  hotel  in 
the  country,  outside  of  the  watering-places,  presents 
such  a  field  for  fashionable  flirtation  as  the  Fifth  Avenue 
after  dinner. 

The  Brevoort,  corner  of  Fifth  avenue  and  Clinton 
place,  is  on  the  European  plan,  and  one  of  the  quietest 
and  most  expensive  hotels  in  the  City.  Foreigners  gen- 
erally go  there,  though  a  number  of  families  make  their 
home  within  its  comfortable  walls.  It  is  a  small  house, 
but  makes  as  much  pretension  to  style  and  elegance  as 
almost  any  hotel  in  town.  The  names  of  ministers 
from  abroad,  consuls  and  diplomats  are  generally  found 
on  its  register,  and  persons  of  title  are  very  common 
among  its  patrons. 

The  Barcelona,  in  Great  Jones  street,  is  no  more.  It 
was  a  Spanish  hotel,  and  exclusively  patronized  by  the 
Cubans  and  Spanish  who  visit  us.      English  was  rarely 


The  Hotels.  397 

spoken  in  the  house,  wliich  had  Spanish  clerks,  cham- 
ber-maids and  waiters,  and  staying  there  reminded  you 
of  your  travels  in  Arragon  and  Andalusia.  If  you  did 
not  understand  the  language  of  Calderon  and  Cervantes, 
and  relish  oil  and  olives,  you  were  wise  to  keep  away 
from  the  Barcelona. 

The  Barcelona  is  now  the  Maltby.  It  is  patronized 
by  Americans,  and  is  on  the  European  plan. 

The  fashionable  European  houses,  are  the  St.  James, 
Everett,  Hoffman,  St.  Denis,  Grammercy-Park,  Claren- 
don, and  a  dozen  others  which  have  no  distinctive  fea- 
tures. They  are  well  kept  and  patronized;  and  they 
who  live  there  think  their  particular  hotel  the  best 
in  New- York. 

The  Grammercy-Park,  Union-Place,  Clarendon. 
Spingler  and  Westminster  are  little  resorted  to  by  the 
miscellaneous  public,  but  have  their  own  class  of  pat- 
rons, many  of  whom  are  private  families. 

The  second-class  houses  are  far  more  numerous  than 
the  first-class,  and  among  them  French's,  Lovejoy's, 
the  Merchants',  Western  and  Courtlandt-street,  are  the 
most  frequented.  They  are  said  to  be  comfortable ; 
though  the  class  of  persons  you  meet  there  are  not  apt 
to  be  as  cultivated  and  agreeable  as  at  the  Broadway 
houses.  You  must  pay  something  for  your  company 
as  well  as  your  accommodations ;  and  most  persons  in 
this  country  are  willing  to  do  so,  if  they  have  the 
money,  or  can  borrow  it. 

New-York  generally  is  a  very  expensive  place,  but 
you  can  live  cheaply  if  you  are  willing  to  go  where 
your  fastidiousness  is  not  consulted,  and  cleanliness  is 
not  ranked  second  to  godliness.     Thousands  of  persons 


398  The  Great  Metropolis. 

keep  up  a  certain  respectability  of  appearance  here  on 
a  slender  income;  but  they  suffer  more  from  their  false 
pride  than  they  would  be  willing  to  in  a  worthier 
cause. 

If  many  a  trusting  Don  Cleofas  would  take  hold  of 
Asmodeus'  cloak,  follow  him  in  his  flight  to  the  steeple 
of  Grace  Church,  and  gaze  at  the  unroofed  hotels,  he 
would  have  his  faith  shattered  and  his  peace  poisoned. 
He  would  see  that  countless  men  who  wore  the  bays 
of  belief  concealed  beneath  them  what  loved  and  trust- 
ed women  had  put  there. 

Hotel  life  is  agreeable  and  desirable  for  masculine 
celibates ;  but  he  is  unwise  who  takes  his  wife  and 
family  there  for  a  permanent  home.  How  many  wo- 
men can  trace  their  first  infidelity  to  the  necessarily 
demoralizing  influences  of  public  houses, — to  loneli- 
ness, leisure,  need  of  society,  interesting  companions, 
abundance  of  opportunity,  and  potent  temptation ! 

There  is  a  happy  medium  between  ever-jealous  hus- 
bands and  secure  simpletons.  Master  Ford  was  made 
ridiculous  by  his  suspicions ;  but  I  am  afraid  Falstafl^s 
story  was  not  fully  told. 

Women  have  too  much  natural  craving  for  mental 
excitements,  too  much  fondness  for  sensational  ex- 
periences. They  are  a  thousand  times  better  and 
purer  and  less  selfish  than  men.  But  their  nearest 
friends  and  protectors  have  no  right  to  expose  their 
light  garments  to  the  fire,  and  wonder  they  are 
scorched. 

Love  and  knowledge  are  the  best  guardians  of  every 
woman's  purity  and  peace;  but  we  should  all  remem- 
ber there  are  crimes  made  venial  by  the  occasion,  and 
temptations  that  nature  cannot  master  nor  forbear. 


( 


I 


CHAPTER  XLY. 
WILLIAM     CULLEN     BRYANT. 

William  Cullen  Bryant  is  the  Nestor  of  the  Me- 
tropolitan press,  and  one  of  the  best  known  men  in  the 
country.  His  name  is  familiar  to  all  Europe  as  a  poet^ 
litterateur  and  journalist,  and  well  it  may  be^  for  he  is 
one  of  the  best  types  of  the  editorial  profession  in  the 
New  World. 

William  Cullen  Bryant's  name  is  almost  a  household 
word  throughout  the  land.  Yet  such  is  the  indiffer- 
ence and  absorbing  nature  of  New-York  life  that  when 
he  walks  up  Broadway,  as  he  often  does,  not  one  per- 
son out  of  five  thousand  who  pass  would  recognize 
him.  Say,  however,  "There  goes  Bryant,"  and  almost 
every  one  would  turn  to  gaze  in  the  direction  indi- 
cated. No  reputation  secures  to  a  man  in  New- York 
what  Horace  considered  the  assurance  of  fame :  To  be 
pointed  out  as  you  go  by,  and  hear  'That  is  he!' 
Giants  of  celebrity,  monsters  of  notoriety  may  pace 
from  Bowling  Green  to  Madison  Square,  and  no  quick 
whisper,  no  pointing  finger,  no  hurried  comment 
wounds  their  sensibility  or  flatters  their  self-love. 

Bryant,  born  November  3,  1794,  in  Cummington, 
Hampshire  county,  Massachusetts,  is  the  son  of  Peter 
Bryant,  a  physician  of  the  place,  a  man  of  fine  literary 
and  artistic  tastes,  who  taught  the  boy  to  love  poetry 


400  The  Great  Metropolis. 

in  his  earliest  years.  The  afFection  existing  between 
William  and  his  father  was  of  very  ardent  even  ro- 
mantic character,  as  is  shown  in  some  of  the  first  verses 
the  poet  wrote.  Like  Cowley,  Milton  and  Pope,  Bryant 
wooed  the  muses  as  soon  as  many  boys  learn  to  read. 
He  might  well  say,  with  the  author  of  the  "Essay  on 
Man": 

"  While  yet  a  child,  nor  yet  anko\^^l  to  fame, 
I  lisped  in  numbers,  for  the  numbers  came." 

In  his  tenth  year  he  wrote  verses,  and  in  his  fifteenth 
published  them.  They  were  so  very  clever  that  few 
persons  would  believe  they  were  his.  They  could  not 
be  convinced  such  extraordinary  productions  were  the 
work  of  a  boy  of  his  age,  and  a  rigid  examination  was 
necessary  to  satisfy  the  skeptical.  In  precocity  he 
closely  resembled  Chatterton  ;  writing  "  Thanatopsis," 
considered  his  best  poem,  and  by  many  critics  at  home 
and  abroad,  the  best  of  American  poems — in  his  nine- 
teenth year.  "Thanatopsis"  remained  in  MS.  for 
three  or  four  years,  and  was  printed  in  the  North 
American  Review^  in  1817,  when  it  gained  at  once  a 
wide  reputation,  and  has  grown  so  popular  since  that 
many  of  its  polished  lines  have  been  worn  threadbare 
by  quotation. 

Bryant  in  his  thirtieth  year,  I  think,  removed  to 
New- York,  and  in  1826  connected  himself  with  the- 
Evening  Post^  with  which  he  has  remained  ever  since. 
For  a  number  of  years  he  was  a  very  hardworking  jour- 
nalist, writing  the  leading  articles,  especially  on  political 
•  subjects,  during  two  whole  decades.  The  Post^  in 
those  days,  was  Federal,  but  Bryant,  always  Democratic 
(in  the  true  sense  of  the  term)  in  his  views  and  sym- 
pathies, did  much  to  make  the  paper  reflect  his  opin- 


m 


I 


William  Cullen  Bryant.  401 

ions.  Under  his  administration  it  grew  to  be  a  Demo- 
cratic journal,  continuing  such  until  the  question  of 
slavery  entering  into  politics  gave  birth  to  the  Repub- 
lican party,  of  which  Bryant  became  a  firm  but  inde- 
pendent supporter. 

During  the  past  twelve  or  fifteen  years,  many  of 
which  he  has  spent  abroad,  he  has  rested  somewhat 
from  his  labors.  Now-a-days  he  rarely  writes  an  edi- 
torial, leaving  the  management  of  the  Post  to  Charles 
Nordhoff  and  Augustus  Maverick;  but  indulges  his 
journalistic  habit  by  writing  on  minor  topics,  with  a 
pertness  and  vigor  not  to  be  expected  of  a  man  more 
than  forty  years  in  the  editorial  harness. 

His  literary  life  is  too  familiar  to  speak  of  at  any 
length.  In  addition  to  a  book  of  poems  published 
thirty  years  ago,  which  was  warmly  praised  by  the 
British  reviews,  he  printed  a  volume,  in  1849,  entitled 
''Letters  of  a  Traveller,"  made  up  of  his  correspond- 
ence to  the  Post.  Although  a  journalist  and  accus- 
tomed to  daily  writing,  he  is  not  fond  of  literary  com- 
position, seldom  attempting  it  unless  there  is  some- 
thing he  particularly  wants  to  say.  Poetry,  with  him, 
is  not  only  a  labor  of  love  but  a  love  of  labor.  He 
composes  with  the  greatest  difficulty,  owing  to  an  ex- 
treme fastidiousness  that  refuses  to  be  satisfied.  Like 
Pope  and  Campbell,  he  is  always  anxious  to  alter  and 
revise,  and  is  ever  finding  what  he  conceives  to  be 
happier  words  of  expression.  It  is  said  he  wrote 
"  Thanatopsis"  a  hundred  times,  and  that  he  now  has  a 
copy  of  the  poem  with  various  changes  from  the  pub- 
lished form.  It  is  often  asked  why  he  does  not  write 
more  ;  but  those  who  know  him  wonder  not  at  his  in- 
frequent accomplishment  of  verse.     Poetry  is  a  mental 


402  The  Great  Metropolis. 

agony  witli  him.  He  takes  as  much  pains  and  toils 
over  his  lines  as  Jean  Jacques  did  over  his  prose,  or 
Tennyson  over  his  verse.  He  has  almost  invariably 
declined  to  furnish  poems  for  college  commencements, 
public  occasions  and  national  festivals ;  his  talent  not 
being  of  the  ready  or  spontaneous  sort.  The  sole  in- 
stance I  know  of  his  departing  from  the  established 
rule  of  his  life  was  when  he  furnished  two  short  poems 
to  the  Ledger^  for  which  Eobert  Bonner  paid  him  the 
extraordinary  sum  of  $3,000.  He  has  none  of  the 
curiosa  felicttas  that  distinguishes  many  literary  men, 
particularly  those  who  have  been  bred  to  journalism, 
or  who  have  long  followed  it  as  a  profession. 

I  know  a  score  of  clever  fellows  in  the  vicinity  of 
Printing-House  square  who  would  write  a  drama,  half 
a  dozen  pieces  of  verse,  a  story,  two  or  three  columns 
of  paragraphs,  and  a  score  of  letters  to  the  country 
press  while  Bryant  was  inditing  a  short  poem.  I  am 
bound  to  say,  however,  his  work  would  better  bear 
critical  examination  than  theirs. 

His  travels  have  been  quite  extensive.     He  has  been 
abroad  five  or  six  times,  having  visited  every  part  of 
the  continent,  Egypt,  Syria,  Judea,  and  other  portions  • 
of  the  East.     Like  a  true  journalist  he  has  always  cor- 
responded with  the  Postj  making  there  a  record  of  his 
impressions  of  the  people  and  places  he  has  visited. 
His  letters  are  unusually  interesting,  as  they  would 
naturally  be,  coming  from  a  man  of  such  refined  and 
cultivated  tastes.     He  is  thoroughly  acquainted  with 
art,  a  passionate  lover  of  nature,  a  poet  in  his  life  no 
less  than  in  his  written  word.     He  enjoys  travel  and  | 
nature  more  than  almost  anything  else,  and  finds,  like  1 
the  melancholy  Jacques,  sermons  in  stones,  books  in 


William  Cullen  Bryant.  403 

the  running  brooks,  and  good  in  everything.  He  has 
been  and  is  the  intimate  friend  of  a  number  of  the  best 
artists  at  home  and  abroad,  and  has  all  the  artistic  feel- 
ing and  sympathy  of  the  plastic  tribe. 

His  domestic  tastes  are  remarkable  for  such  a  wan- 
derer. In  1845  he  purchased  a  beautiful  piece  of 
property  on  Long  Island,  near  Roslyn,  and  has  ever 
since  been  cultivating  it  with  the  greatest  care.  It  is 
an  idyllic  poem  in  nature.  His  charming  home  is  lit- 
erally embowered  in  roses,  sheltered  in  the  midst  of 
the  most  luxuriant  plants  of  every  variety.  He  spends 
much  of  his  time  with  his  flowers,  and  while  he  walks 
among  and  watches  them  with  a  floral  affection,  his 
youth  seems  restored,  and  his  years  sparkling  back- 
ward in  the  morning  sunshine.  He  is  a  widower  now ; 
but  all  his  life  long  he  has  been  devoted  to  his  family 
— he  has  two  daughters — and  a  model  of  all  that  is 
lovable  in  the  relation  of  husband  and  father.  Of 
late  years  he  passes  much  of  his  time  in  his  old  home- 
stead, making  visits  to  the  Post  office  only  once  oi 
twice  a  week,  and  then  remaining  but  a  short  time. 

Personally,  Bryant  looks  like  one  of  the  ancient 
patriarchs.  His  hair  and  beard,  which  he  wears  long, 
are  of  silvery  white  and  of  silken  softness,  and  he 
might  well  sit  for  a  model  of  Calchas.  Though  his 
face  is  deeply  wrinkled,  he  is  erect,  lithe  and  vigorous 
as  a  man  of  thirty  and,  in  his  seventy -fourth  year,  is 
probably  the  best  preserved  New-Yorker  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Manhattan. 

Men  usually  die-  here  of  old  age  before  they  are 
forty,  but  Brj^ant  is  an  exception  to  those  who  sur- 
round him.  Few  young  men  can  walk  so  far,  take  so 
much  exercise,  or  do  so  much  work  as  he  can  to-day ; 


404  The  Great  Metropolis. 

and  he  attributes  his  extraordinary  strength  to  the  ab- 
stemiousness of  his  life  and  his  passion  for  nature, 
which  has  caused  him  to  pass  much  of  his  time  in  the 
open  air.  He  is  inclined  to  be  shy,  albeit  he  enjoys 
congenial  society,  and  has  spent  many  happy  days 
with  Washington  Irving,  Fitz-Greene  Halleck,  William 
Leggett,  James  K.  Paulding  and  other  noble  fellows 
and  heaux  esprits  whom  he  has  survived.  He  is  a 
most  entertaining  talker,  and  it  is  a  rare  treat  to  listen 
to  his  reminiscences  of  the  distinguished  dead  and  the 
historic  spots  he  has  known  so  well.  He  is  a  fine 
specimen  of  the  American  gentleman  of  the  past  gene- 
ration; and  yet  he  is  so  hale  and  hearty  there  is 
good  reason  to  believe  he  may  brighten  the  next  gene- 
ration with  his  silvery  hairs. 


1 


I 


CHAPTER  XLYI. 
THE    MARKETS. 

The  domestic  markets  of  New-York  are  the  best, 
and  the  market-houses  the  worst,  in  the  country.  The 
two  are  antipodes.  They  remind  one  of  delicate  and 
delicious  viands  served  on  broken  and  unwashed 
dishes  and  soiled  table-cloths.  Who  can  enter  any  one 
of  our  dozen  market-houses,  see  their  profusion  and 
excellence  and  variety  of  supply,  and  contrast  them 
with  their  surrounding  dinginess  and  squalor,  without 
a  feeling  of  disappointment  approaching  disgust? 
There  is  hardly  an  exception.  Fulton  and  Washington 
markets  reflect  all  the  rest.  Jefferson  is  little  better 
than  Catharine,  Union  than  Clinton,  Franklin  than 
Centre ;  but  Tompkins  is  deserving  of  consideration. 

It  is  well  known  that  no  people  under  the  sun  have 
so  many  material  comforts  as  Americans.  As  a  nation, 
we  are  luxurious,  self-indulgent,  extravagant.  We  are 
the  modern  Assyrians.  We  will  have  what  money  will 
purchase,  come  what  may.  No  true  son  of  the  Repub- 
lic believes  he  shall  ever  suifer  from  deprivation ;  for 
he  has  faith  enough  in  himself  and  his  country  to  think 
all  the  necessaries  and  many  of  the  superfluities  of  life 
will  be  always  furnished.  The  poorest  American  often 
fares  better  than  the  richest  of  the  ancients.  The 
salaried  clerk  and  the  retail  tradesman  sit  at  tables 


406  The  Great  Metropolis. 

that  would  have  shamed  those  of  Caligula  and  Cleopa- 
tra. The  barbaric  splendor  is  less,  but  the  material 
comfort  is  more.  We  melt  no  pearls  in  vinegar;  but 
we  melt  our  incomes  in  dainty  superabundance. 

In  our  mode  of  subsistence  there  is  a  wonderful 
equality.  The  salesman  with  fifteen  hundred  a  year 
has  the  same  bill  of  fare  as  his  employer  worth  half  a 
million  under  the  hammer. 

Foreigners  are  surprised  at  the  profusion  of  our 
markets,  and  still  more  at  the  number  of  people 
who  purchase  at  them.  What  in  Europe  only  a  cer- 
tain class  would  buy  seems  here  to  be  within  the 
means  of  all.  Within  the  purse  would  be  the  apter 
expression ;  for  its  contents  are  the  measure  of  our 
wants. 

Market-going  is  unpleasant  and  prosaic.  It  is  the 
soberness  and  seriousness  of  marriage  after  the  ro- 
mance and  illusion  of  passion ;  the  standing  behind 
the  scenes  after  the  close  of  the  beguiling  play ;  the 
entering  the  kitchen  before  the  arrangement  of  the 
feast. 

I  have  had  much  experience  as  a  market-goer ;  and, 
the  more  I  go,  the  less  I  like  it.  There  may  be  those 
who  relish  kissing  an  eternal  farewell  to  delightful 
dreams,  leaping  from  their  cosy  beds  at  early  dawn, 
and  trudging  off  to  a  confusion  of  buyers  and  sellers, 
to  the  inspection  and  purchase  of  roasts  and  birds,  ofj 
sirloins  and  side-pieces,  of  carrots  and  cauliflowers,  oi 
lettuce  and  lobsters.     But  I  am  not  of  them. 

I  infinitely  prefer  total  ignorance  of  the  price  oi 
marketing,  the  place  of  its  sale,  and  the  mode  of  its 
preparation.     I  like  to  go  to  breakfast  or  dinner  atj 


The  Markets.  407 

f 

my  entire  leisure ;  look  at  the  bill ;  call  for  what  I 
want ;  pay  for  it ;  and  think  no  more  about  it. 

To  be  independent  of  the  rate  of  provisions  is  to 
enjoy  a  freeman's  privilege ;  to  hear  no  quotations  of 
the  substantial  of  existence  is  a  blessed  immunity. 
Ye  who  think  otherwise,  consign  yourselves  to  a  pri- 
vate boarding-house,  and  be  taught  the  sagacity  of  my 
opinion  by  bitter  experience. 

I  have  known  men  who  refrained  from  matrimony 
because  it  brought  among  its  lesser  woes  the  woe  of 
market-going.  They  fancied  they  could  bring  them- 
selves to  endure  the  great  sacrifices  and  responsibili- 
ties it  imposed ;  but  the  prosaic  littleness  of  bartering 
with  butchers  and  hucksters  was  beyond  their  bearing. 
Unlike  many  men,  they  were  unwilling  their  wives 
should  go  to  market,  and  they  were  right.  If  the 
larder  must  be  supplied  by  household  devotion,  and 
the  servants  be  incompetent,  as  they  usually  are  for 
such  service,  the  melancholy  duty  obviously  belongs 
to  the  proper  head  of  the  family.  Women  always  en- 
dure the  greater  burthens  of  wedlock.  They  wear 
petticoats,  and  bear  children.  Let  their  husbands  go 
to  market. 

Let  us,  you  and  me,  reader,  go  to  market, — ideally 
I  mean, — and  see  how  they  do  such  things  in  the  Me- 
tropolis. 

Washington  and  Fulton  markets  are  the  best  known 
and  most  frequented ;  but  they  are  all  alike,  and  one 
will  answer  for  all.  We  can  visit  any,  and  see  what- 
ever is  to  be  seen.  -  Call  it  by  the  name  you  prefer. 
Here  it  is,  and  well  attended,  though  the  sun  has  not 
yet  risen. 

There  is  little  order  or  regularity  in  the  stalls.    The 


408    ,  The  Gke^^t  Metropolis. 

buildings  are  old,  rickety,  uncleanly,  pntched  and 
added  to  until  they  seem  like  old  garments  made 
older  and  more  unsightly  by  excess  of  bad  mending. 

We  cannot  help  thinking  of  the  model  market- 
houses  of  Philadelphia, — so  clean,  so  spacious,  so  airy, 
and  so  sweet.  The  City  of  Brotherly  Love  may  be  an 
overgrown  village ;  but  its  market-houses  are  what 
they  should  be,  and  its  municipal  government  won't 
steal  more  than  fifty  cents  on  the  dollar.  Would  we 
could  say  the  same  of  Gotham  ! 

But,  if  the  houses  are  poor  and  paltry,  their  contents 
are  rich  and  superabundant.  Nothing  is  lacking  to 
gratify  the  palate, — to  delight  the  most  jaded  appetite. 
The  best  beef,  mutton,  veal  and  lamb  the  country 
affords  are  displayed  upon  the  stalls.  Those  roasts 
and  steaks,  those  hind-quarters,  those  cutlets,  those 
breasts  with  luscious  sweetbreads,  would  make  an 
Englishman  hungry  as  he  rose  from  the  table.  Those 
delicate  bits,  so  suggestive  of  soups,  would  moisten 
the  mouth  of  a  Frenchman.  Those  piles  of  rich  and 
juicy  meats  would  render  an  Irishman  jubilant  over 
the  memory  of  his  determination  to  emigrate  to  a 
land  where  potatoes  were  not  the  chief  article  of  food. 

What  an  exhibition  of  shell-fish,  too  !  Crabs,  and 
lobsters,  and  oysters  in  pyramids,  yet  dripping  with 
sea-water,  and  the  memories  of  their  ocean-bowers 
fresh  about  them.  And  vegetables,  of  every  kind, 
and  fruits,  foreign  and  domestic,  from  the  largest  to 
the  smallest,  from  the  rarest  to  the  commonest,  from 
the  melon  to  the  strawberry,  from  the  pine  apple  to 
the  plum.  Fish  from  the  river  and  mountain  stream, 
from  the  sea  and  the  lake.  Fowls  and  game  of  all 
varieties,  from  barnyard  and  marsh,  forest  and  prairie. 


The  Markets.  409 

everytliing  that  can  appeal  to  and  gratify  tlie  epicurean 

sense. 

We  think  of  the  consolatory  reflection  of  the  nevfly 
landed  Milesian,  that  no  man  can  starve  wtiere  pro- 
visions are  so  plenty,  when  we  walk  through  the  mar- 
kets and  see  the  overwhelming  contributions. 

Everything  is  exceedingly  high,  considering  the 
quantity ;  but,  in  a  great  centre  like  this,  there  are  so 
many  mouths  to  be  fed,  so  many  consumers,  and  so 
few  producers,  it  is  not  strange  prices  are  at  the  top 
ol  the  scale. 

People  complain  of  quotations,  and  declare  they 
can't  live.  But  they  do,  and  keep  buying  the  best  the 
market  affords ;  for  what  it  affords  they  can,  or  do,  at 
least.  It  is  easy  to  show  on  paper  and  by  figures, 
how  people  can't  live  if  the  necessities  of  existence 
go  much  higher.  But  the  necessities  steadily  advance, 
and  the  bills  of  mortality  do  not  increase.  Nature 
and  requirement  have  a  way  of  answering  the  question, 
How  shall  I  live  ?  that  is  mysterious,  but  quite  satis- 
factory, 

Rates  decline  with  the  hours.  You  can  buy  at  9 
thirty  per  cent,  less  than  you  could  at  5,  but  not  so 
excellently ;  for  the  market  is  now  stripped  of  its 
choicest  and  best.  The  ordinary  rule  is  reversed  in 
market-going.  They  who  are  prosperous  are  the 
earliest  customers,  and  the  poor  are  the  latest.  It 
is  the  fashion  of  the  fashionable  to  purchase  when  the 
sun  is  low  and  the  price  is  high.  They  send  their 
stewards,  housekeepers  and  caterers  before  the  hum- 
ble in  circumstances  dare  invade  the  sanctity  of 
elevated  figures. 

At  this  timely  hour,  we  see  the  caterers  of  the  great 


410  The  Great  Metropolis, 

hotels  among  the  first  visitors.  They  are  on  tlie  alert 
for  the  choicest  beef,  the  fattest  mutton,  the  freshest 
cutlets,  the  earliest  fruits  and  vegetables ;  for  the  rep- 
utation and  patronage  of  their  houses  depend  upon 
the  excellence  of  their  table.  The  Fifth  Avenue, 
St,  Nicholas,  Brevoort,  Metropolitan,  Astor,  Hoffman, 
St.  James,  and  all  the  others  are  represented  ;  and  the 
indefatigable  steward  of  Delmonico  is  never  behind. 

Butchers  and  gardeners  have  orders  in  advance  to 
keep  such  and  such  things  for  the  hotels  and  restau- 
rants ;  but  those  establishments  deem  it  necessary  to 
have  an  artist  on  the  spot.  The  rivalry  is  too  sharp 
to  admit  of  implicit  faith  in  promises,  and  market- 
people  are  vulgarly  venal  often. 

They  who  purchase  for  the  denizens  of  Fifth  avenue 
and  other  fashionable  quarters,  are  stirring  betimes. 
They  select  without  regard  to  price,  and  are,  therefore, 
most  desirable  customers.  It  is  not  always  so,  how- 
ever. Some  of  the  wealthiest  New-Yorkers  are  eco- 
nomical to  niggardness  in  their  dealings ;  chaffer  and 
cheapen  for  half  an  hour ;  go  from  stall  to  stand  ;  and 
lose  more  time^in  the  endeavor  to  save  a  few  pennies, 
than  would  serve,  if  rightly  employed,  to  earn  dollars. 
Several  of  our  millionaires  are  notorious  at  Jefferson 
and  Fulton  markets.  They  will  not  even  trust  their 
servants,  and  buy  such  provender  as  is  usually  sold  to 
keepers  of  cheap  boarding-houses  in  East  Broadway. 
The  same  persons  Avill  spend  prodigally  for  their 
vanity ;  but  for  their  private  table,  unless  there  be  in- 
vited guests,  they  are  sparing  of  food. 

The  colored  servants  (always  good,  but  expensive 
market- goers)  of  gambling-houses  and  bagnios,  are 
among  the  generous  patrons,  and  they  are  the  most 


I 


The  Markets.  411 

monetarily  reckless  of  all.  They  do  not  use  their  own 
means,  and  their  employers  stint  them  not.  The 
quality  of  their  purchases,  not  the  quantity  of  their 
outlay,  is  impressed  upon  them;  and  they  little  care 
for  complaint  on  that  score. 

The  late  customers,  as  I  have  said,  are  the  penurious 
or  the  poor.  They  go  when  prices  have  fallen ;  when 
the  best  articles  have  disappeared ;  when  prospects  of 
bargains  have  brightened.  The  middle  classes,  so  far 
as  circumstances  are  concerned,  attend  at  medium 
hours.  The  really  indigent  tarry  from  obligation,  and 
the  parsimonious  from  election. 

After  7  or  8  o'clock,  the  delicacies  and  desirables  are 
not  to  be  had.  Then  eggs  are  suspicious ;  butter  po- 
tent ;  vegetables  wilted ;  meats  irresponsible ;  fish 
uncertain ;  fruits  deceptive. 

The  moral  tone  of  dealers  lowers  with  the  advance 
of  morning.  A  butcher  who  is  undoubtedly  honest  at 
sunrise,  will  cheat  you  .without  hesitation  at  10  o'clock. 
The  vegetable  woman  who  would  keep  all  the  com- 
mandments before  6,  would  break  almost  any  of  them 
for  money  after  9. 

The  latest  and  hardest  customer  is  the  cheap  board- 
ing-house keeper.  She  (for  that  is  her  sex  generally) 
is  resolved  on  buying  much  for  little  ;  and  the  quantity 
of  leather  steaks,  highly  perfumed  butter,  limed  eggs, 
green  fruit  and  unsavory  vegetables  she  carries  off, 
awakens  sympathy  with  her  boarders,  and  uneasiness 
respecting  their  digestion.  She  is  fond  of  saying  she 
knows  what's  what ;  but  I  don't  believe  her  patrons 
do.  If  they  are  so  endowed,  they  must  regard  igno- 
rance as  bliss. 

Occasional  visitors  are  the  infatuated  strangers  who 


412  The  Great  Metropolis. 

consider  markets  among  the  lions  of  the  Metropolis. 
We  all  like  to  know  how  our  neighbors  live — it  is  a 
subtle  as  well  as  interesting  problem — and  the  curious 
strangers  seem  to  understand  the  question  in  a  material 
light.  They  wander  from  one  end  of  the  market- 
house  to  the  other ;  ask  prices ;  handle  meats  and 
vegetables ;  criticise  them ;  make  inquiries  of  every 
kind ;  wonder  and  speculate ;  and  return  to  their 
hotels  with  a  better  appetite  for  breakfast,  because 
they  believe  they  have  done  their  duty. 

Other  visitors  are  the  young  women  who  appear 
leaning  heavily  on  masculine  arms,  looking  fond  and 
happy  and  enthusiastic.  They  never  release  their  es- 
corts for  a  moment.  They  pout  and  blush,  and  glance 
significantly  out  of  the  corners  of  their  bright  eyes. 
They  must  be  in  love  with  their  companions,  or  they 
wouldn't  act  so. 

They  are.  They  are  new-made  wives.  Harry  or 
Julius  gets  up  like  a  true  gallant,  and  goes  to  market, 
begging  Lucy  or  Harriet  to  lie  still  and  sleep  until  he 
returns.  But  she  won't  do  anything  of  the  sort. 
HoAV  could  she  sleep  in  the  absence  of  her  darling 
husband?  So  she  accompanies  him,  and,  when  they 
return,  she  either  prepares  or  superintends  his  break- 
fast, and  they  sit  down  like  two  doves  to  their  morn- 
rng  meal. 

In  a  few  weeks  a  change  comes  over  the  spirit  of 
their  dream.  The  young  wife  doesn't  go  any  more. 
She  lies  in  bed ;  sleeps  like  a  dormouse,  and  is  cross 
when  awakened  even  with  a  kiss.  At  the  end  of  six 
months,  Harry  or  Julius  holds  down  the  pillow,  and 
she  is  compelled  to  provide  for  the  household. 

Fulton  market  is  famous  for  its  oysters,  and  Dorian 


The  Markets.  413 

is  the  oyster  man  of  all  others.  For  twenty  years  he 
has  been  here,  and  his  shell-fish  are  the  best  on  the 
Planet.  It  is  strange  the  saloons  there  are  patronized  so 
liberally  by  a  class  you  would  never  expect  to  find  at 
such  an  uninteresting  place.  But  it  is  the  fashion  to 
go  to  Fulton  market,  and  that  fact,  more  than  the  ex 
cellence  of  what  you  get,  preserves  the  extraordinary 
custom.  The  people  you  meet  at  Delmonico's,  you  see 
at  Dorian's — men  of  wealth,  and  women  of  society ; 
fastidious  scholars,  and  authors  of  renown. 

Into  those  plain  and  noisy  saloons  go  models  of 
elegance  and  extremes  of  mode — the  money  king  of 
Wall,  the  great  importers  of  Beaver,  the  famous  ship- 
ping merchants  of  South  street,  the  belles  of  Mad- 
ison avenue,  and  the  staid  clergymen  of  Brooklyn. 
Yanderbilt,  Brew,  Belmont,  Stewart,  Bellows  and 
Yinton,  Beecher,  Greeley,  Tyng,  John  Morissey,  Mrs. 
Stanton,  Fanny  Fern,  the  venerable  Gulian  C.  Yer- 
planck,  Moses  H.  Grinnell — every  body,  high,  low  and 
in  middle  station,  are  patrons  of  the  market. 

If  you  wish  to  &ee  one  of  the  peculiar  phases  of 
New-York  life,  go  to  Dorian's  at  lunch  time,  and  ob- 
serve, amid  its  clatter  and  confusion,  what  fair  and 
expensively  attired  women,  what  distinguished  and 
gifted  men,  you  will  meet  there.  About  those  little 
tables,  over  those  delicious  oysters,  what  strange  stories 
have  been  told,  what  heart-histories  revealed,  what 
secrets  of  the  soul  poured  into  sympathetic  ears !  Ful- 
ton market  has  a  history  in  itself,  and  Dorian  is  its 
central  and  commanding  figure. 

The  evening  markets  are  almost  entirely  democratic. 
They  have  no  grades,  no  visitors  at  different  periods. 
The  humble  and  common -place  patronize  them  gen- 


414  The  Great  Metropolis. 

erally ;  the  wealthy  seldom.  They  are  the  resort  of 
blacklegs  and  courtesans,  often,  who  make  assignations 
there,  and  leer,  and  wink,  and  act  indecently  when 
they  dare.  Such  markets  are  a  confusion  of  bad  man- 
ners, and  high  voices,  and  familiar  dealers,  and  vulgar 
customers,  and  over-dressed  people. 

We  won't  go  there,  reader.  We'll  leave  those  who 
like  such  places  to  go  in  our  stead.  We'll  be  exclu- 
sive, and  touch  hands,  and  part  here  until  to-morrow. 
Aye,  to-morrow ;  for  to-morrow  never  comes. 


t  i 


CHAPTER    XLYII. 
THE     POST-OFFICE. 

The  New- York  post-office  is  characteristic  of  the 
City — an  indirect  way  of  saying  it  is  as  bad  as  it  well 
can  be.  Governmental  slowness,  added  to  municipal 
carelessness,  makes  blundering  unavoidable  and  failure 
magnificent. 

In  no  other  place  than  the  Metropolis  could  the  gen- 
eral post-office  have  been  kept  in  an  old  church,  a  nar- 
row and  crowded  street,  and  an  out-of-the-way  locality, 
for  a  Yf hole  generation.  Something  more  than  stu- 
pidity is  required  for  that ;  something  more  than  indif- 
ference to  the  public  interest;  and  that  something 
more,  which  is  dishonesty,  turns  to  fruit  on  every  bush 
on  the  island  of  Manhattan.  The  people  have  com- 
plained and  clamored  year  after  year.  Everybody 
knew  and  said  the  post-office  was  a  nuisance.  But 
nuisances  are  cherished  and  perpetuated  here,  as  Broad- 
way, the  police  system,  the  City  Hall,  the  street-cars, 
the  unbridged  rivers,  the  unventilated  theaters  for  in- 
stance; and  the  post-office,  having  been  universally  de- 
clared a  nuisance,  was  by  divine  right  entitled  to  remain 
such.  Whenever  removal  has  been  determined  on ; 
whenever  the  citizens  were  likely  to  be  advantaged, 
long  purses  were  opened,  and  before  the  glitter  of  coin 
the  prospect  of  change  was  lost.    But  the  World  moves. . 


41 G  The  Great  Metropolis. 

We  now  have  reason  to  hope  that  we  shall  have  a  new 
post-office  during  the  century ;  and  we  are  resigned  to 
continued  annoyance  out  of  consideration  for  our 
posterity. 

What  a  human  bee-hive  is  the  old  Dutch  Church  in 
Nassau  street,  bounded  by  Liberty  and  Cedar!  An 
entire  stranger  would  think  that  the  big  and  broad 
church  to  which  so  many  anti-creedists  belong.  All 
the  lower  part  of  town  runs  in  and  through  it,  and 
overflows  with  the  rising  tide  that  pours  out  at  its 
swarming  door- ways.  Not  all  the  churches  in  the  City 
have  so  many  worshipers,  such  earnest,  devout,  regular 
attendants.  Interest  preaches  in  that  pulpit,  and  hu- 
man nature  goes  to  hear  the  preacher;  for  he  charms 
with  the  dreariest  themes  and  the  shrillest  voice.  His 
is  the  universal  religion  that  requires  no  teaching,  un- 
derstood alike  in  the  temples  of  Boodha  and  Brahma, 
of  Jupiter  and  Jehovah.  When  he  opens  his  lips  to  shriek 
or  thunder,  every  ear  is  stretched,  and  every  breast 
leaps  to  listen. 

That  popular  church  is  the  general  post-office,  which 
has  fourteen  stations  or  branches  in  different  Cj[uarters 
of  the  town ;  employs  nearly  five  hundred  clerks  and 
managers,  about  three  hundred  outside  attaches,  and 
does  more  business  than  any  other  three  offices  in  the 
country.  It  has  about  six  thousand  boxes,  and  yields 
to  the  Government,  above  all  expenses,  a  million  and 
a  half  of  dollars  per  year, — an  income  that  is  regularly 
increasing.  All  the  other  offices  of  the  United-States 
about  pay  their  expenses;  the  department  depending 
for  its  sole  profit  upon  New- York. 

Nearly  one  million  of  letters  are  delivered  every 
week,  and  over  fifty  millions  every  year;  while  a  hun- 


The  Post-office.  417 

dred  tons  of  mail  matter  pass  throngli  the  office  each 
twenty-four  hours.  In  1854  the  amount  was  about 
eighteen  tons,  showing  an  increase  of  more  than  five 
hundred  per  cent,  in  thirteen  years.  Of  money  orders 
thirteen  or  fourteen  thousand  dollars  are  sent,  and 
about  sixty  thousand  cashed  per  week.  Of  stamps 
eight  thousand  dollars  are  sold  per  day,  or  more  than 
two  million  six  hundred  thousand  per  annum.  The 
registering  department  does  business  enough  for  an 
ordinary  office,  from  seven  to  fifteen  millions  worth  of 
bonds  being  registered  on  steamer  days. 

Forty -five  or  fifty  regular  mails  leave,  and  about  the 
same  number  are  received  every  day.  Twenty-five 
mail  steamers  sail  from  here  every  week ;  all  of  them 
carrying  heavy  mails,  especially  those  for  foreign 
ports. 

From  these  facts  and  figures  some  idea  may  be  ob- 
tained of  the  immense  business  at  the  New- York  office, 
and  the  need  of  intelligence,  system  and  fidelity  in 
every  department.  It  is  useless  to  say  they  are  not  to 
be  found ;  nor  will  they  be  while  the  post-office  is 
merely  part  of  the  political  machinery  of  the  Republic. 
The  department  has  been  but  a  partial  success  here 
from  the  beginning,  and  grave  doubts  are  entertained 
of  its  ever  being  what  it  should  until  it  is  placed  in 
the  hands  of  private  parties  who  can  be  held  responsi- 
ble, as  express  companies  are,  for  failures  or  losses. 

One  of  the  great  defects  of  our  country  is  its  postal 
system.  Mails  are  as  uncertain  as  to-morrow's  sky, 
(give  me  credit  for  not  making^ the  time-honored  pun,) 
and  to  rely  on  them  is  like  putting  your  trust  in  silver 
mines.  The  City  mails  here  are  particularly  deranged. 
You  can  send  a  letter  to  Boston,  or  Albany,  or  Chicago, 

At 


418  The  Great  Metropolis. 

with  a  tolerable  certainty  of  its  reaching  its  destination 
some  time.  But  if  you  mail  a  missive  from  your  office 
in  Pine  or  William  street  to  your  friend  in  Grammercy 
park,  or  Lexington  avenue,  or  direct  a  note'  to  your 
cousin  round  the  corner,  the  chances  of  its  ever  being 
heard  from  are  slight.  The  time  usually  occupied  in 
transitu  between  "down"  and  "up  town"  is  24  hours 
to  24  days;  and  men  have  been  known  to  visit  Eu- 
rope and  return  before  a  city  letter  at  a  mile's  distance 
could  reach  them.  Such  are  the  blessings  of  a  repub- 
lican postal  system. 

The  American  people,  being  the  most  intelligent, 
are  naturally  the  greatest  letter-writers  on  the  Globe. 
It  is  often  an  event  in  the  old  World  to  get  or  read  a 
letter.  But  here  children  indite  epistles,  and  every 
cross-roads  has  its  post-office.  The  man  who  has  not 
received  a  letter  has  not  been  discovered,  though,  if  he 
exists,  he  lives  in  the  interior  of  Arkansas  or  the  East- 
ern part  of  Louisiana. 

If  you  take  your  stand  at  the  corner  of  Liberty  and 
Nassau  streets  any  day  between  the  hours  of  9  and  6, 
you  will  imagine  half  of  the  planet  has  fallen  in  love 
with  the  other  half,  and  is  telling  the  loved  half  of  the* 
fact  every  minute.  Stand  firmly,  hold  to  something, 
or  you  will  be  swept  off  your  feet  as  you  are  by  the 
under-current  at  Long  Branch,  by  the  tide  of  swift 
passers-by.  Hundreds  of  people  of  every  sort  hurry 
by  into  the  vestibule ;  hurry  out,  and  disappear.  Some 
seek  letters ;  some  are  mailing  them.  Some  want  stamps; 
some  want  information;  but  all  have  urgent  business, 
and  hasten  and  fret  as  if  they  had  bought  a  through 
ticket  for  Heaven,  and  they  had  hardly  time  for  the 
last  train. 


The  Post-office.  419 

Within  you  observe  the  long  lines  of  men  and  boys 
with  money  in  their  hands,  earnest-faced,  yet  patient, 
waiting  for  their  turn  at  the  stamp-windows.  At  one 
window  any  number  of  stamps  can  be  had;  at  the 
other  sums  of  one  dollar  and  upwards  only.  The  links 
of  the  chain  fall  off  at  the  head  and  increase  at  the  tail. 
For  hours  it  is  about  the  same  length.  But  as  the 
hands  on  the  large  clock  at  the  end  of  the  Cedar  street 
hall  creep  round  toward  5  o'clock,  the  throng  becomes 
a  mere  group. 

To  the  north  of  the  Nassau  street  entrance  are  boxes 
labeled  "City,"  "Eastern  States,"  "Western  States 
and  territories,"  •  "Northern  States  and  Canada," 
"Southern  States,"  and  into  those,  letters  are  thrust  so 
rapidly  that  the  apertures  are  almost  choked  at  times. 
What  a  deluge  of  envelopes  of  every  hue  to  every 
point  of  the  compass?  What  can  they  all  contain? 
What  can  all  those  people  find  to  write  about?  How 
industrious  Americans  are !  What  a  mania  they  have 
for  wasting  pen,  ink  and  paper !  Have  they  an  inter- 
est in  paper  mills  or  stationers'  establishments  that  they 
thus  throw  themselves  into  expression  ? 

The  boxes  are  constantly  thumped  and  the  clerks 
thrust  out  their  hands  full  of  matter,  and  dart  to  an- 
other number,  and  empty  that,  and  fly  to  a  third,  and 
deliver  to  the  messengers  who  receive  and  depart 
without  end.  What  hosts  of  correspondence  from  all 
over  the  habitable  Globe !  Advice  from  India,  quota- 
tions from  St.  Petersburg,  questions  from  Constantino- 
ple, warnings  from  Frankfort,  remittances  from  Vienna, 
information  from  Berlin,  orders  from  Smyrna,  gossip 
and  love  messages  from  Paris,  friendship  reaffirmed 
from    London ;    business    intelligence   and  sympathy 


420  The  Great  Metropolis. 

from  every  clime  and  zone.  This  is  indeed  civilization, 
enlightenment,  when  every  man  in  any  part  of  the 
World  can  communicate  with  his  fellows  on  the  other 
side  of  the  planet,  across  deserts  and  seas,  in  lands  the 
belief  in  whose  existence  is  only  a  matter  of  faith. 

There  are  the  general  delivery  and  the  window  for 
advertised  letters.  They  are  besieged  all  day  long. 
No  one  who  is  quite  indiiferent  calls  for  letters ;  but 
the  clerks  are  enough  so  to  make  up  for  the  interest  of 
the  outsiders. 

Post-office  clerks  are  models  of  unconcern  if  not  rude- 
ness, all  the  country  over.  In  that  particular  they  are 
in  advance  of  all  other  government  employees,  of  bank 
officers,  of  railway  underlings.  I  have  often  believed 
they  were  born  only  to  have  their  noses  pulled ;  and 
it  is  a  great  pity  they  so  often  miss  their  destiny.  It 
is  wonderful  how  such  dull  fellows  can  be  so  ingeni- 
ously offensive.  All  the  capacity  they  have  is  directed 
to  disobligation.  The  study  of  their  lives  seems  to  be 
to  offend.  If  Caligula's  destructive  wish  had  re- 
ferred merely  to  the  class  I  have  named,  he  would 
have  been  a  true  philanthropist.  I  would  vote  for 
him  to-day  for  dictator  of  New- York. 

"Letter  for  Wm.  B.  Haskins !"  The  clerk  runs  over  a 
pile  of  letters  much  as  professors  of  legerdemain  do  a 
pack  of  cards,  and  throws  them  back  without  reply. 
Time  was  when  they  would  hurl  "  nothing"  at  your 
head  as  they  would  a  missile  at  an  enemy ;  but  that  is 
considered  needless  politeness  now.  Perhaps  the 
question  is  repeated  quietly  more  than  once ;  and  the 
clerk,  by  way  of  reply,  insults  the  questioner.  It  was 
a  wise  precaution  to  make  postal  windows  small,  if  the 
prevention  of  clerks'  heads  from  much  merited  punch- 


The  Post-office.  421 

ing  were  deemed  desirable.  Few  persons  wlio  inquire 
for  letters  would  be  so  treated  if  the  insolent  behind 
the  partition  understood  that  insult  would  meet  with 
punishment 

What  becomes  of  all  the  advertised  letters  ?  Nearly 
half  that  are  asked  for  are  either  gone  or  never  found. 

Is  it  that  names  are  too  much  alike,  or  that  clerks 
are  too  lazy  to  look  for  them  ?  I  have  frequently  ap- 
plied for  such  letters  at  the  New- York  Post-office,  and 
never  yet  obtained  one.  Perhaps  it  is  thought  enough 
to  advertise  without  delivering  them. 

The  general  delivery  is  a  study,  and  a  sad  one. 
They  who  call  there  usually  have  needs  of  the  purse 
or  needs  of  the  heart.  They  are  for  the  most  part 
strangers  or  in  adversity  or  misfortune  of  some  kind. 
No  one,  unless  a  clerk,  could  have  failed  to  notice  the 
anxious  or  pale  faces  that  go  to  the  window  day  after 
day,  and  the  expression  of  disappointment  and  pain 
that  follows  the  turning  of  the  back,  the  shaking  of 
the  head.  The  weary  waiting,  the  hoping  against 
hope,  the  clinging  to  the  straw  of  belief  in  the  sea  of 
improbability  are  pictured  in  the  eyes  and  features  of 
many  of  the  callers  for  letters  that  never  come.  Every 
disappointment  is  an  added  pain,  a  new  weight  laid 
upon  the  throbbing  breast.  The  familiar  faces  cease 
to  come  at  last.  "Where  have  they  gone?  Perhaps 
they  might  be  recognized  at  the  morgue. 

But  they  who  get  letters  often  open  them  with  wild 
pulses  and  trembling  fingers.  Did  you  ever  watch 
the  faces  of  those  whose  eyes  devour  letters  just  re- 
ceived? If  you  be  a  skilled  physiognomist,  you  can 
learn  the  contents  by  the  reflections  above  them. 
There   is   wealth ;  here    satisfaction ;    there  is  hope ; 


422  The  Great  Metropolis. 

here  despair  ;  there  is  love  ;  here  hate ;  there  is  saint- 
liness;  here  sin.  What  may  not  a  letter  convey? 
What  potent  influences,  what  great  changes,  what 
spiritual  revolutions  may  it  not  bring?  Letters  that 
make  no  outward  alterations  cause  inward  transforma- 
tions beyond  imagining.  The  great  World  goes  on 
with  imperceptible  variation ;  but  our  world,  yours  and 
mine,  which  is  all  the  world  we  care  for,  may  be  shat- 
tered any  hour,  and  the  fragments  not  worth  the 
keeping. 

How  indifferently  the  clerks  in  the  office  rake  and 
toss  and  tumble  and  pack  the  thousands  and  thousands 
of  letters  away !  Every  one  of  them  has  a  history  or  a 
poem  for  some  one,  a  wound  or  balm,  a  weal  or  woe, 
a  rose  or  thorn.  But  they  are  all  thrown  in  a  heap, 
like  the  just  and  the  unjust,  the  pure  and  coarse,  in 
the  plan  of  creation.  They  are  all  bound  and  tied  to- 
gether and  jested  and  sworn  over,  and  carried  to  the 
station  or  steamer,  and  nobody  cares. 

Still,  in  all  that  niultitude  and  confusion  and  chaos  of 
letters,  no  two  are  alike.  Each  can  be  distinguished 
from  its  fellow,  as  can  the  individuals  of  the  crowd  on 
Broadway.  The  observer,  he  who  has  seen  life,  can 
guess  at  their  contents ;  can  almost  find  out  the  busi- 
ness from  the  love-letters ;  those  of  the  wife  from 
those  of  the  mistress ;  can  determine  that  this  is  senti- 
mental, and  that  practical ;  this  cheerful,  that  despond- 
ent ;  this  sweet  and  that  bitter ;  for  analogies  run 
through  the  Universe,  and  earnest  study  will  enable  us 
to  read  them. 

The  stations  are  for  the  accommodation  of  persons 
in  all  quarters  of  the  City.  They  are  as  different  in 
appearance  and  their  habitufe  as  the  locality  in  which 


The  Post-OFFicE.  423 

tliey  are  established.  At  some  of  the  stations  the  let- 
ters are  nearly  all  neat,  even  dainty.  The  people  who 
call  are  well  dressed,  and  have  style.  At  others,  the 
missives  are  addressed  in  coarse  and  sprawling  hands, 
and  their  receivers  uncultivated  and  common-place,  if 
not  vulgar.  The  stations  are  the  favorites  of  intriguers 
of  both  sexes,  and  are  frequently  made  rendezvous  for 
interdicted  communication  and  illicit  pleasures. 

Occasionally  some  unsophisticated  citizen  complains 
of  such  things  through  the  newspapers,  but  New- York 
cares  not  for  them.  It  is  too  busy  to  attempt  to  regu- 
late the  lives  of  persons  to  whom  it  is   indifferent. 

Like  Paris,  it  says,  "  Enjoy  yourselves  as  you  like, 
if  you  can  do  it  at  your  own  expense.  Your  morals 
are  yours.  It  is  quite  as  much  as  I  can  do  to  look 
after  my  own." 


CHAPTER  XLYHI. 
THE    GAMINS. 

New- York  is  as  remarkable  for  her  gamins  as  Paris 
is  for  hers.  They  are  more  peculiar,  too,  and  more 
varied  in  their  order.  The  strange  little  creatures  who 
flaunt  their  rags  and  make  grimaces  in  the  face  of  the 
Hudson,  are  no  imitators  of  those  who  gibe  at  Hu- 
manity and  Fortune  along  the  Seine.  They  are 
entirely  original.  They  have  not  even  heard,  the 
most  of  them,  of  their  tattered  brothers  over  the  sea, 
and  would  wage  fierce  war  with  them,  should  those 
ever  find  their  way  ijito  Broadway  or  Park  Row.  No 
doubt  they  would  be  victorious  over  the  foreigners ; 
for  our  gamins  have  a  species  of  savage  energy  and 
desperate  determination,  with  a  sturdiness  and  muscu- 
lar power,  that  would  be  apt  to  triumph  where  hard 
blows  are  given. 

Their  antecedents  are  the  opposite  of  favorable. 
They  are  almost  always  of  foreign  parentage,  generally 
Celtic,  sometimes  German ;  born  in  wretched  tenement 
houses,  their  earliest  memories  those  of  drunken  and 
brutal  parents,  of  harsh  treatment,  of  errands  to  the 
corner  grocery  for  liquor,  of  rags  and  filth,  of  poverty 
and  vice.  The  gentle  and  kindly  influences  that  sur- 
round and  mold  other  children  are  unknown  to  them. 


The  Gamins.  425 

Thej  are  social  barbarians.  They  have  no  concep- 
tion of  what  "  home,"  in  its  true  sense,  means.  Beauty 
and  Love  are  almost  taken  out  of  their  lives.  They 
hear  no  music ;  they  see  no  flo\¥ers,  unless  they  catch 
the  strain  of  the  street-musicians,  or  the  vision  of  the 
bouquet-baskets  when  they  wander  into  Broadway. 

All  existence  to-  them  is  a  struggle  of  squalor  with 
sin,  of  passion  and  ignorance  with  hard  materialism 
and  the  established  order  of  things.  Almost  as  soon 
as  they  can  walk,  they  are  thrust  into  the  street  to  beg 
or  steal,  or  contribute  in  some  manner  to  their  parents' 
miserable  support ;  though  it  frequently  happens  that 
they  never  know  their  parents,  and  are  outcasts  from 
their  earliest  consciousness. 

Abused  and  beaten  by  those  who  should  be  their 
natural  protectors,  they  soon  abandon  their  "homes," 
and  seek  their  own  fortune.  Strictly  speaking,  they 
have  neither  childhood  nor  boyhood.  They  pass  from 
neglected  infancy,  almost  by  a  bound,  to  an  immature 
and  unnatural  manhood,  compelled  by  a  sense  of  self- 
protection  to  a  rugged  and  semi-savage  independence. 
Long  before  their  teens,  they  are  fighting  against  want 
and  fate,  like  shaggy  veterans,  and  grappling  with  cir- 
cumstances that  would  appal  men  who  might  be  their 
fathers. 

Their  number  can  hardly  be  ascertained.  It  is 
steadily  on  the  increase,  and  might  to-day  be  counted 
by  tens  of  hundreds.  The  gamin  is  to  be  seen  any- 
where and  everywhere,  in  any  part  of  the  island,  at 
any  hour  of  the  day  or  night.  There  is  no  mistaking 
him.  If  you  did  not  observe  closely,  you  might  im- 
agine the  little  fellow  who  wanted  to  carry  your  valise 
at  the  Courtlandt  street  ferry,  or  black  your  boots  in 


426  The  Great  Metropolis. 

Fulton  street,  or  sell  you  the  Evening  Kews  in  the 
Third  avenue  car,  the  same  identical  urchin.  He  has 
much  the  same  expression  of  face,  much  the  same 
voice  and  manner.  His  clothes  have  the  same  disre- 
gard of  fit  or  wholeness,  the  same  fantastic  tatters  and 
ridiculous  disproportion  to  his  figure. 

Go  where  you  will,  you  find  him  looking  shrewdly 
from  under  his  unkempt  locks  and  fragmentary  cap ; 
standing  in  his  great  and  broken  boots,  which  he  has 
either  found  in  an  ash-heap  or  purchased  at  a  second- 
hand shop  in  the  Bowery ;  proffering  his  services  in 
some  manner,  if  you  indicate  any  need  of  them;  or 
if  you  don't,  staring  at  you  half-curiously,  half-critically, 
and  evidently  seeing  your  every  grotesque  or  peculiar 
point. 

Their  favorite  callings  are  boot-blacking  and  news- 
paper-selling, for  which. they  have  an  original  genius. 
Often  they  do  both,  and  carry  parcels  and  valises  be- 
sides ;  but  generally  a  boot-black  refuses  to  dishonor 
his  profession  by  any  fugitive  occupation,  and  a  news- 
boy deems  it  undignified  to  embark  in  less  exalted 
enterprises.  They  are  very  industrious  up  to  a  certain 
point ;  and  after  they  have  reached  that,  they  become 
indifferent  to  compensation. 

Almost  every  gamin  begins  the  day  with  an  exact 
idea  of  how  much  his  requirements  are,  and  until  he 
obtains  the  sum  needful,  he  is  supremely  energetic  and 
active.  His  wants  are  few,  and  more  likely  to  be 
luxuries  than  necessities.  Tobacco,  beer,  the  Police 
Gazette  and  Herald^  an  oyster  stew,  coffee  and  cakes, 
a  pit  or  gallery  ticket  to  the  Bowery  or  Tony  Pastor's, 
include  his  common  needs. 

Of  course  he  has  hardly  a  vestige  of  a  shirt,  and  if 


The  Gamins.  427 

the  weather  be  moderate,  no  shoes — at  least  none  to 
speak  of — not  a  garment  he  could  not  leap  out  of,  or 
which  a  hard  wind  would  not  blow  to  pieces.  "  But 
confound  it,"  he  thinks;  "what  does  a  boy  want  of 
them  things  ?  "  He  can  get  them  any  time.  He  can 
pick  them  up  if  he  is  abroad  early  enough ;  and  he  is 
no  sluggard. 

With  all  his  rags  and  carelessness  of  appearances, 
he  is  luxurious  in  «ome  of  his  tastes.  Hell  buy  early 
fruit  when  it  is  nearly  Worth  its  weight  in  silver,  and 
possess  flash  literature  whatever  its  price.  His  dinner^ 
even  in  Chatham  or  Nassau  street,  frequently  costs 
him  a  dollar,  and  he'd  gladly  pay  two  dollars  for  it,  if 
hi-s  appetite  craved  more.  He  is  generous,  too,  at 
times,  and  gives  to  boys  just  "starting  in  business," 
enough  to  "set  them  going."  He  flings  coppers  at 
beggars  as  dukes  would,  and  buys  clothes,  which  he 
would  not  buy  for  himself,  for  his  companions,  when 
the  Winter  sets  in. 

One  marked  peculiarity  of  the  gamin  is  his  perse- 
verance, and  a  certain  kind  of  independence.  He 
solicits  you  sufficiently  to  inform  you  of  what  you 
ought  to  have ;  and,  if  you  reject  his  aid,  he  turns 
away  from  you  with  an  air  of  mingled  pity  and  con- 
tempt. He  appeals  to  you  eloquently  on  the  subject 
of  your  boots ;  bestows  a  critical  and  condemnatory 
glance  on  their  unpolished  condition,  and  offers,  in  a 
careless  way,  to  "shine  'em  up,  boss,  for  ^ve  cents," 
if  you  seem  to  hesitate.  Should  you  take  him  at  his 
offer,  he  will  try  liard  to  get  twice  as  much  for  his 
job,  by  declaring  "that's  a  ten-cent  shine,"  and  in- 
forming you  that  the  other  boys  will  whip  him,  if  he 
works  below  the  price. 


428  The  Great  Metropolis. 

He  does  not  flatter  you.  He  does  not  tell  you  your 
feet  are  small,  or  your  boots  neat,  or  your  pantaloons 
handsome,  or  that  you  are  a  nice  gentleman,  as  menials 
so  often  do.  On  the  contrary,  he  vows  your  boots  are 
big  and  dirty ;  intimates  that  it  must  have  been  a  long 
time  since  they  were  "polished  up,"  and  that  you're 
not  what  you  pretend  to  be,  if  you  do  not  give  him  an 
extra  five  cents. 

He  is  quick  to  discover  intentions.  Before  you 
have  quite  made  up  your  mind  about  having  your 
boots  blacked,  he  is  down  on  his  knees,  with  your  feet 
on  his  box,  brushing  away  until  the  perspiration  starts 
from  his  unwashed  forehead.  If  he  be  a  leading  artist 
in  his  profession,  and  have  an  acknowledged  reputa- 
tion, he  will  have  observers  and  imitators  among  his 
companions.  Several  of  them  will  group  themselves 
around  him,  on  their  knees,  on  the  sidewalk,  and  watch 
the  process  closely.  They  are  novices,  probably,  and 
taking  lessons.  When  the  master  boot-black  has 
blown  his  last  breath  upon  the  leather,  and  struck  the 
toe  with  his  brush  to  signify  completion,  cries  of  "bully, 
old  fel,"  are  heard  from  the  circle  of  admirers. 

If  you  want  a  good  polish,  you  must  watch  the  boy 
or  he'll  shirk  his  duty.  He'll  forget  to  touch  the  heels, 
and  neglect  the  toes,  unless  he  chance  to  be  giving 
instructions  to  his  less  experienced  comrades.  Having 
secured  you,  he  considers  his  price  secured,  and  the 
sooner  he  can  get  the  job  done,  the  better  he  is 
pleased.  If  you  complain,  he'll  do  it  faithfully,  but 
give  you  to  understand  all  the  while,  he  has  earned 
more  than  he  receives. 

The  newsboy  is  not  uncommonly  a  graduate  from 
street-begging,  bundle-carrying  and  boot-blacking,  and 


The  Gamixs.  429 

usually  considers  himself  in  the  front  rank  of  his  fel- 
lows. He  is  much  more  intelligent,  often  more  un- 
scrupulous than  they ;  begins  to  have  decided  opinions 
and  theories  of  life,  with  hopes,  ambitions,  expecta- 
tions. He  has  learned  a  great  deal  by  his  constant 
reading  of  the  papers,  and  can  astonish  you  by  the 
variety  of  his  information.  He  has  acquired  facility, 
if  not  correctness  of  expression,  and  gives  council,  at 
times,  to  those  on  a  lower  round  of  the  ladder. 

Believing  the  newspaper  the  great  educator,  he  is 
resolved  every  one  shall  read  it.  He  offers  induce- 
ments through  his  imagination,  when  you  are  averse 
to  buying ;  looks  into  your  face  and  conjectures  your 
calling  or  character.  If  you  impress  him  as  a  mer- 
chant, he  informs  you  of  a  sudden  movement  in  dry 
goods,  an  advance  in  gold,  a  decline  in  imports,  of 
which  you  have  never  heard. 

If  you  are  pale  or  pensive  or  abstracted,  he  fancies 
you  literary,  and  speal^s  of  some  new  poem,  very  new 
to  you  and  the  rest  of  the  World, — or  cries  out  "  Seri- 
ous illness  of  Carlyle,"  "Accident  to  Emerson,"  "Im- 
portant about  Dickens."  Manifesting  no  interest,  he 
concludes  you  an  invalid,  and  changes  his  key.  Then 
you  learn  something  about  "valuable  remedies  for 
consumption,  debility  and  dyspepsia,"  "  new  discovery 
in  medicine,"  or  "blessing  to  the  sick." 

If  serious  and  solemn  and  unhappy,  he  regards  you 
as  a  clergyman,  and  "  Great  spread  of  the  Gospel," 
"Noble  work  among  the  missionaries,"  "Revival  of 
rehgion  in  the  country,"  are  the  phrases  he  is  voluble 
upon. 

Should  you  wear  a  bland  and  meaningless  and  hol- 
low smile,  and  move  your  right  arm  as  if  you  intended 


430  The  Great  Metropolis. 

-«. 
to  offer  it  to  every  passer-by,  he  will  clamor  concern- 
ing "Reconstruction  in  the  South,"   " inexplicable  con- 
duct of  the  Radicals,"   "New  movement  among  the 
Democracy,"  presuming  you  are  a  politician. 

He  will  probably  take  you  in  some  of  those  verbal 
nets;  and  before  you  have  glanced  over  the  paper, 
and  had  an  opportunity  to  discover  his  deception,  he 
will  have  disappeared  in  the  crowd.  He  does  not  re- 
sort to  such  shifts  unless  he  has  had  ill  success  in  his 
sales,  or  the  paper  is  devoid  of  any  intelligence  of  an 
exciting  character.  He  is  a  profound  believer  in  the 
newspapers,  for  they  have  brought  him  all  he  knows; 
and  perhaps  he  deems  any  trick  which  will  make  you 
read  them,  beneficial  in  the  main,  even  if  you  are  dis- 
appointed in  certain  particulars. 

A  common  ground  for  the  gamins  is  the  old  Bowery 
theater,  and  of  late  Tony  Pastor's  opera-house,  as  it  is 
termed.  The  gamins  are  excessively  fond  of  amuse- 
ments such  as  the  Bowery  furnishes — sensational  dra- 
mas founded  upon  robbery,  seduction,  elopement  and 
desperate  encounters ;  tragedies  in  which  ranting,  blue- 
fire,  bloody  villains  and  horrid  murders  form  the  chief 
features.  They  don't  affect  any  thing  humorous  on 
the  stage  unless  it  be  in  the  shape  of  burnt  cork  or 
comic  songs.  They  would  hiss  the  most  sparkling 
comedy  brilliantly  performed  from  the  boards;  decide 
"Much  Ado  about  Nothing"  a  bore,  and  Congreve's 
liveliest  sallies  stupid.  They  delight  in  horrors,  and 
banquet  upon  moral  monstrosities. 

Of  all  histrionic  heroes  Richard  the  Third,  as  Shaks- 
peare  caricatured  him,  is  their  favorite;  though  if 
Gloster  play  his  part  as  he  ought,  they'll  bellow  at  him 
in  indignation.     He  must  writhe  and  roar  and  grimace. 


The  Gamins.  431 

and  strike  fire  with  his  sword,  if  he  expects  thoir 
applause.  All  fcnciRg  scenes  they  enjoy  amazingly, 
and  all  struggles  on  the  stage,  from  one  side  to  the 
other,  up  and  down,  to  spasmodic  orchestra,  and 
ricochetting  on  the  principal  violin  are  apples  to  their 
eye. 

They  are  exacting  and  critical,  and  if  the  perform- 
ance does  not  please  them ;  if  there  be  any  abatement 
of  the  murderous  or  sulphurous  element;  if  the  trap- 
doors fail,  or  the  demons  don't  appear  in  crimson 
throughout,  they  resent  the  defect  at  once,  and  cry 
out  against  the  decline  of  the  drama.  They  are  the 
standards  for  the  manager ;  and  what  they  approve  he 
knows  will  be  successful.  They  are  to  him  what  the 
professional  wits  were  in  Queen  Anne's  time.  With- 
out them  he  is  hopeless.  But  when  they  applaud,  he 
bids  defiance  to  Wallack's  and  the  latest  Broadway 
sensation. 

How  and  where  does  the  gamin  live?  is  a  natural 
question.  He  can  hardly  answer,  for  he  does  not  fully 
know  himself  He  is  sure  of  the  past,  confident  of  the 
present,  indifferent  to  the  future.  He  exists  in  har- 
mony with  his  nature,  which  is  unnatural  enough;  does 
not  apologize,  nor  indulge  in  make-believe  nor  sham 
of  any  kind.  He  neither  regrets  nor  repents.  He  is 
on  the  exact  plane  of  common  things ;  seeking  for 
himself,  asking  no  favor,  plucking  the  very  beard  of 
fortune,  and  grinning  at  destiny. 

He  begins  very  bad,  and  often  ends  worse.  But 
sometimes  he  is  developed  into  something  higher  and 
better.  His  very  errors  and  sins  make  him  wise  in  his 
own  interest.  Intelligence  more  than  moral  teaching 
shows  him  that  honesty  is  policy,  and  rectitude  advan- 


432  The  Great  Metropolis. 

^■ 

tage.  He  begins  with  reading  the  Police  Gazette  and 
Clipper  '^  passes  to  the  Ledger  and  Herald  j  and  rises 
at  last  to  the  Tribune  and  Nation. 

He  blackens  himself  with  a  kind  of  whiteness.  The 
polish  of  his  boots  is  gradually  transferred  to  his  man- 
ners and  understanding.  He  finds  others  feel  an  in- 
terest in  him,  and  that  gives  him  an  interest  in  himself 
Benevolent  persons  and  societies  strive  to  benefit  him ; 
to  take  care  of  his  earnings;  to  instruct  him  in  the 
value  of  pecuniary  independence.  As  he  accumulates 
a  little  money  he  grows  less  reckless,  and  by  degrees 
discovers  himself  somewhat  conservative.  He  finds 
he  can  do  good ;  that  he  has  influence,  and  bears  res- 
ponsibility. 

The  ill-fortune  of  his  companions  who  have  turned 
to  different  paths  is  a  warning  and  an  example.  He 
perceives  that  beer  and  tobacco  and  dishonesty  lead 
to  the  Tombs  and  Blackwell's  island,  and  they  to  Sing 
Sing  and  the  gallows.  He  has  a  small  capital  before 
he  is  out  of  his  teens.  He  changes  his  calling ;  be- 
comes a  porter  or  mechanic;  studies  in  his  leisure 
hours,  and  having  b^n  tried  in  the  fiery  furnace,  is 
not  likely  to  be  scorched  by  common  flame.  At  five 
and  twenty  he  is  married,  and  probably  has  a  patch  of 
ground  he  can  call  his  own ;  enters  upon  a  new  Kfe, 
and  thanks  his  stars  that  he  escaped  unhurt  from  the 
dangers  of  the  old. 

Such  information,  improvement  and  advancement 
are  rare,  however.  The  gamin  would  be  more  than 
mortal  if  he  could,  save  in  exceptional  cases,  rise  above 
his  surroundings;  drag  his  garments  through  the  mire 
year  after  year,  and  not  be  soiled.  Thrust  upon  the 
World  while  a  child,  with  no  sense  of  right  or  justice, 


The  Gamins.  433 

remembering  only  a  drunken  father  and  a  virago 
mother,  cruelty  at  home  and  abuse  in  the  street,  is  it 
not  natural  he  should  take  sides  with  the  mean,  the 
vicious  and  the  strong  ?  All  his  best  influences,  his 
affections,  his  instincts  to  good  are  crushed  out;  and 
he  falls  into  the  habits  of  the  little  tyrants  and  ruffians 
who  fight  their  way  to  the  hardest  livelihood. 

A  bar-room  becomes  his  highest  ambition ;  a  prize- 
fighter his  hero.  As  he  grows  older,  he  patronizes  one 
and  consorts  with  the  other.  Yile  habits  fasten  them- 
selves upon  him,  and  the  poor  little  wretch  whom 
sympathy  would  have  transformed,  and  kindness  pre- 
served creeps  up  through  poisonous  atmospheres  into 
a  pimp  or  blackleg,  a  thief  or  ruffian,  a  burglar  or  a 
murderer. 

The  school  is  too  strict,  the  ordeal  too  severe.  So- 
ciety casts  him  out.  The  law  exacts  penalty,  but  does 
not  restrain  him ;  and  when  the  unfortunate  gamin, 
who  had  never  home  or  friends  or  education  or  coun- 
sel, commits  crime  and  is  punished,  the  very  society 
that  would  not  receive  or  help  him,  lifts  its  soft  hands 
in  horror,  and  declares  with  modulated  utterance  that 
the  times  are  degenerate,  and  that  the  way  of  the 
transgressor  is  hard. 

28 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 
THE    DEMI-MONDE. 

Woman's  chastity  is  so  delicate  a  subject  that  not 

only  all  discussion  of,  but  any  allufeion  to  it,  is  tabooed 

in   society.      The   mere   mention   of    sexual   passion 

sounds  the  alarm  for  all  the  proprieties,  and  he  who 

proposed  to  consider  it  in  any  mixed  company  would 

be   deemed   either   a   mad    philosopher   or   a   social 

savage. 

The  relation  of  the  sexes  is  the  problem  of  the  age 

more  than  any  other  that  demands  solution,  and  lies 
nearest  the  hearts  of  the  present  generation.  Every 
one  feels  there  is  something  wrong  in  the  existing 
condition  of  things;  but  either  the  fear  of  making 
bad  worse,  or  the  unwillingness  to  change  what  law 
and  custom  have  sanctioned,  prevents  any  general 
attempt  at  reform.  The  evils  of  lewdness  are  wide- 
spread and  monstrous ;  but  marriage  also  has  its  evils, 
and  who  will  deny  that  a  certain  moral  prostitution  ia| 
sometimes  common  to  both  ?  i 

The  only  purity  is  in  passion  spiritualized  by  sym- 
pathy and  sanctified  by  affection.  Neither  tradition 
nor  ceremonies  can  make  any  relation  virtuous  where 
love  and  harmony  are  not ;  nor  can  conventionality 
and  prejudice  prevent  Nature  from  obeying  her  in- 
stincts and  obtaining  her  rights. 


The  Demi-Monde.  435 

We  all  deplore  tlie  effects  of  illicit  relations ;  but 
few  find  a  voice  to  denounce  the  unchastity  of  discord- 
ant wedlock,  which  has  more  sins  of  impurity  to  an- 
swer for  than  the  World  dares  name.  The  woman 
who  gives  herself  unreservedly  where  love  has  gone 
before  is  stained  indelibly,  while  she  who  lives  a  wed- 
ded leman,  and  wrongs  and  degrades  herself  and  Na- 
ture by  every  fresh  bestowal,  walks  in  seeming  saint- 
liness  with  society's  approval  on  her  unblushing  brow. 

But  poor  woman,  why  should  man,  the  author  of 
your  wrongs  and  woes,  condemn  you  ?  You  are  not 
immaculate,  but  you  are  angelic  compared  to  him.  If 
you  are  weak,  it  is  a  lovable  weakness.  If  you  are 
wicked  he  has  taught  you  wickedness.  You  are  ever 
suffering  for  sins  that  are  not  your  own ;  and  he 
should  remember  he  was  placed  here  for  your  protec- 
tion, not  your  persecution.  When  you  are  feeble,  it 
is  his  duty  to  hold  you  up,  not  drag  you  down. 
When  you  are  tempted,  it  is  his  obligation  to  make 
you  strong.  When  you  despair,  he  should  give  you 
hope,  and  make  the  dark  future  kindle  with  the  radi- 
ance of  his  love. 

Yet  not  many  think,  and  very  few  act  so.  Men  for 
the  most  part  seem  to  consider  woman  a  proper  ob- 
ject of  attack-  wherever  found ;  that  the  contest  is 
equal,  and  victory  glorious  by  whatever  means  ob- 
tained. They  have  even  come  to  believe,  so  false 
have  been  their  teachings,  that  she  despises  the  neg- 
lecter  of  any  opportunity  to  do  her  wrong,  and  only 
crowns  him  with  love  who  is  ungenerous  enough  to 
betray  her. 

No  wonder  that  woman  complains  that  she  is  mis- 
understood; for  men  explain  her  mysteries  by  their 


436  The  Great  Metropolis. 

own  sensuality  and  selfishness,  and  with  their  false 
key  unlock  new  chambers  of  unhappiness  in  the  house 
of  her  heart. 

The  sin,  man  is  constantly  committing  against  her  is 
almost  the  only  one  he  will  not  forgive.  He  wrongs 
her,  and  calls  her  wronging  a  wrong  upon  himself  He 
demands  that  she  shall  keep  what  he  is  ever  urging 
her  to  part  with ;  and  what  she  yields  as  the  highest 
expression  of  her  love  he  declares  the  evidence  of  her 
dishonor. 

Poor  woman,  I  say  again,  how  shall  she  distinguish 
between  her  friends  and  foes?  They  both  treat  her 
alike.  They  both  deceive  and  betray  her.  They  both 
stab  her  with  a  kiss,  and  desert  her  at  last  for  the  very 
thing  for  which  they  sought  her  first. 

It  is  estimated  by  those  who  ought  to  know  that 
there  are  in  New- York  about  ten  thousand  women 
who  live  directly  and  solely  upon  the  wages  of  prosti- 
tution,— professional  courtesans  in  a  word, — independ- 
ent of  twice  as  many  more  who  lead  unchaste  lives, 
but  preserve  an  outside  show  of  respectability.  Like 
other  evils,  this  is  steadily  increasing;  the  increase 
being  entirely  out  of  proportion  to  the  growth  of  popu- 
lation. The  War,  by  throwing  many  out  of  employ- 
ment, by  removing  their  natural  protectors,  and  in- 
creasing temptation  in  various  ways,  added  largely  to 
the  list,  and  Peace  has  not  yet  claused  any  favorable 
reaction. 

The  great  majority  of  these  unfortunates  are  Ameri- 
cans, and  were  originally  residents  of  the  country.  As 
a  class  they  are  very  comely,  and  I  have  heard  stran- 
gers say  they  were  among  the  prettiest  women  in  New- 
York.     With  very  rare  exceptions  they  are  uneducated, 


The  Demi-Moxde.  437 

and  have  little  knowledge  of  the  World  ontside  of  the 
narrow  and  vicious  sphere  in  which  they  move.  Their 
history  is  very  uniform,  and  that  of  one  would  answer 
for  that  of  another.  Their  agreeableness  of  person  is 
their  first  danger  without,  and  their  knowledge  of  its 
existence  their  companion  danger  within.  In  their 
rural  homes  they  are  either  seduced  by  men  and  their 
own  vanity,  or,  with  ideas  and  feelings  above  their 
station  and  surroundings,  they  come  to  the  City  for  ex- 
pansion, and  soon  find  their  undoing.  Many,  however, 
are  very  pure  and  honest  at  home,  and  seek  New- York 
for  employment.  Failing  to  obtain  occupation,  or  los- 
ing it  after  a  certain  time,  they  are  thrown  into  the 
way  of  temptations  or  necessities  they  cannot  resist. 
Having  taken  the  initial  false  step,  all  other  steps 
downward  are  easy;  and,  before  the  poor  creatures 
are  fully  aware  of  it,  they  are  following  a  course  it  is 
almost  impossible  to  retrace. 

The  remorse  and  misery  which  abandoned  women 
are  popularly  supposed  to  experience  are  much  over- 
rated. They  are  not  happy  any  more  than  saints 
would  be  on  this  planet,  nor  contented,  for  their  lives 
are  wholly  unnatural ;  but  they  are  ignorant  and  in- 
sensible, and  seldom  have  a  pleasant  past  to  compare 
with  their  reckless  present.  We  all  accept  what  we 
deem  inevitable,  and  in  some  way  excuse,  if  we  do 
not  justify,  our  own  errors  to  ourselves. 

The  unfortunate  cyprian,  while  in  good  health  and 
materially  comfortable,  considers  her  career  an  accom- 
plished fact,  and  lives,  as  all  her  s.ex  do  more  or  less, 
in  the  dissipation  of  the  hour.  She  has  a  good  appe- 
tite, if  not  what  casuists  style  a  clear  conscience,  good 
digestion  and  good  capacity  for  sleep ;  and,  with  such 


438  The  Great  Metropolis. 

physical  blessingG,  spiritual  troubles  rest  lightly  on  her. 
When  sickness  or  adversity  comes,  she  loses  all  her 
strength  and  cheerfulness;  grows  superstitious  and 
desperate  without  the  support  that  fatalism  yields. 
Then  she  flies  to  the  excitement  of  liquor  or  the  ob- 
livion of  suicide.  The  draught  of  brandy  sinks  her 
lower ;  the  draught  of  poison  gives  her  rest. 

Prostitution  like  everything  else,  has  its  degrees,  its 
upper,  and  lower,  and  middle  class,  with  miscellaneous 
varieties. 

The  highest  grade  is  composed  of  women  who  are 
young  and  desirable,  and  prosperous  so  far  as  their 
immediate  wants  are  concerned.  They  live  in  the 
best  houses  and  pay  the  largest  prices  for  their  board ; 
are  the  sought  rather  than  the  seekers ;  air  their  finery 
in  Broadway  and  the  Park ;  are  often  the  mistresses  of 
blacklegs  and  other  members  of  the  "sporting"  frater- 
nity, and  exercise  a  certain  influence  in  the  community. 
They  never  drink  to  excess,  or  use  tobacco  or  obscene 
language  in  company.  They  lay  some  claim  to  taste 
as  well  as  decency ;  can  frequently  thrum  a  little  on  the 
piano  or  guitar,  read  and  write,  and  talk  in  a  stereo- 
typed way  very  tolerable  English.  They  learn  some- 
thing from  the  plays  they  see,  and  the  novels  they 
read,  and  the  men  of  culture  they  often  encounter  and 
have  relations  to.  They  know  how  to  appear  well 
for  a  certain  time,  and  are  able  to  palm  themselves 
off"  upon  the  uninitiated  as  fine  ladies  and  fascinating 
vestals. 

The  second  class  are  the  women  who  abide  in  infe- 
rior places ;  whose  life  is  more  fluctuating  than  that  of 
their  luckier  sisters ;  who  seek  patrons  when  patrons 
do  not  seek  them  ;  who  get  intoxicated  occasionally ; 


i 


The  Demi-Moxde.  439 

make  spectacles  of  tbemselves  in  the  streets,  and  are 
carried  to  the  station-house.  They  are  the  elaborately 
dressed  women  you  meet  on  Broadway  after  dark,  and 
whose  names  you  see  in  the  police  news  as  offenders 
against  the  public  peace.  Yery  often  they  have  been 
in  the  upper  grade,  but  have  declined  to  the  second, 
and  will  in  due  season  fall  even  lower.  Their  position 
shifts  like  sand,  and  the  shadow  of  sudden  death  is  al- 
ways above  their  head. 

The  third  class  are  those  that  pace  the  street  day 
and  night  in  search  of  victims,  whom  they  debauch 
and  rob  if  they  can.  They  have  a  room  or  rooms  in 
some  Greene  or  Mercer  street  establishment,  to  which 
they  introduce  their  customers,  and  after  their  reception 
go  in  quest  of  more.  Such  characters  are  arrested  every 
once  in  a  while  for  theft,  and  sent  to  Blackwell's 
island  or  the  Tombs.  They  make  no  pretense  of  de- 
cency ;  have  no  regard  for  person.  They  drink  like 
ward  politicians,  and  are  nearly  as  dishonest.  They 
swear  like  sailors,  and  fight  like  tigers  when  angry. 
They  have  usually  lost  their  youth  and  beauty ;  be- 
come careless  of  appearances,  and  indifferent  to  their 
fate.  The  hospital  to-day ;  the  prison  to-morrow ;  the 
deadly  potion  or  the  dark  river  the  day  after. 

A  fourth  or  fifth  class  might  be  added — the  wretch- 
ed females  (all  the  woman  seems  to  have  gone  out  of 
them)  who  haunt  the  Water  street  dance-houses  and 
the  dens  of  Cherry  street.  They  live  on  mere  animal 
excitements  and  liquid  fire ;  are  ribald  and  profane, — 
the  very  harpies  of  their  kind. 

The  better  class  of  courtesans  pay  so  much  per 
week  to  the  proprietresses  of  the  houses  of  ill-fame,— 
from  $25  to  $50  according  to  the  accommodations — 


440  The  Great  Metropolis.     ^ 

and  depend  upon  their  arts  or  charms,  or  both,  to  de- 
fray their  expenses.  A  certain  sum  they  must  have, 
or  the  hard-hearted  ' 'landlady"  will  seize  their  bag- 
gage for  debt,  and  drive  them  into  the  street.  They 
are  almost  always  lavish  and  improvident,  saving 
nothing  in  the  event  of  sickness  or  adversity,  and  are 
therefore  liable  to  suffer  for  the  want  of  food  or  shel- 
ter at  any  time.  Some  mysterious  Providence  seems 
to  watch  over  them,  though,  as  over  everything  else, 
and  enables  them  to  live  year  after  year  without  crisis 
or  calamity. 

And  yet  they  rarely  live  long.  Who  ever  saw  an 
aged  courtesan  ?  They  slip  off  the  Planet  mysteriously, 
or  are  lost  in  the  hubbub  of  the  World  before  years 
come  upon  them.  After  a  certain  period  they  are  dis 
qualified  from  success  in  their  vocation  by  reason  of 
the  failure  of  their  charms.  What  they  do  then  no 
one  knows.  Yast  numbers  die  from  disease  engen- 
dered by  their  unnatural  lives ;  and  suicide  is  as  natu- 
ral to  them  as  summer  complaint  to  infants. 

Courtesans  rarely  become  quite  as  depraved  as  men 
who  have  surrendered  all  regard  for  the  World's 
opinion.  They  often  preserve  such  virtues  as  gene- 
rosity, pity,  charity,  tenderness,  and  devotion,  to  their 
dying  day.  Even  their  outlawry  and  the  brand  of  in- 
famy society  has  fixed  upon  them  do  not  drive  the 
woman  wholly  out  of  their  being.  In  emergencies 
they  show  beautiful  traits  of  character  and  noble 
qualities  which  would  reflect  honor  upon  the  noblest 
ladies  of  the  land.  They  prove  that  a  woman  may 
have  almost  every  virtue  but  one,  as  their  more  fortu- 
nate sisters  sometimes  do  that  a  woman  may  possess 
no  virtue  but  one. 


I 


The  Demi-Monde.  441 

What  is  most  remarkable  in  courtesans  of  every 
grade  is  their  inextinguishable  aifection  for  some  one 
of  the  opposite  sex.  However  unworthy,  however  mean, 
selfish,  and  brutal  the  man,  they  will  fix  their  best  love 
upon  him ;  make  sacrifices  for  him ;  give  him  worship ; 
cleave  to  him  through  all  wrong-doing  and  adversity. 

A  thousand  times  deceived,  they  trust  the  thousand- 
and-first  time  still.  Their  hearts  trampled  upon  like 
dust,  their  souls  wrung  to  agony,  they  yet  have  power 
to  love  and  idealize  the  object  of  their  love.  They 
reveal  that  woman's  whole  instinct  is  to  loyalty,  to  one 
affection,  to  one  absorbing  devotion ;  that  her  natural 
disposition  is  to  purity;  and  that,  broken  and  ruined 
as  the  fair  temple  may  be,  there  is  an  inner  and  a  se- 
cret fane  on  which  the  word  Woman  is  graven  with 
the  point  of  a  diamond  in  letters  of  gold. 


CHAPTER  L. 
THE    CLUBS. 

New-York  has  more  clubs  than  all  the  other  cities 
of  the  Union  combined.  Their  number  is  steadily  in- 
creasing, and  is  likely,  before  many  years,  to  be  as 
large  as  that  of  Paris  or  London. 

Clubs  are  the  late  fruit  of  a  high  civilization — the 
outgrowth  of  leisure,  luxury  and  cultivated  unrestraint. 
In  new  and  small  towns  they  are  impossible.  In  old 
and  large  cities  they  are  needful,  because  they  answer 
to  a  positive  want  in  an  excessively  conventional  and 
surfeited  community.  They  have  their  origin  in  cer- 
tain superfluity  of  means,  and  a  kind  of  inverted  sat- 
isfaction. They  are  anti-matrimonial  and  anti-domestic, 
and  present  the  paradox  of  a  longing  for  society  and 
a  tendency  to  isolation. 

Every  club  is  a  blow  against  marriage,  a  protest 
against  domesticity ;  offering,  as  it  does,  the  surround- 
ings and  comforts  of  a  home  without  women  or  the 
ties  of  family.  Clubs  increase  in  an  inverse  ratio  with 
matrimony,  and  each  new  member  is  an  encourage- 
ment to  celibacy. 

There  must  be  more  than  a  hundred  regular  organ- 
ized clubs  of  all  kinds  here,  though  comparatively  few 
of  them  are  well  known,  and  have  expensive  and  lux- 
urious establishments  in  which  to  keep  up  their  state. 


The  Clubs.  443 

The  Metropolis  has  boat  clubs,  cricket  clubs,  chess 
clubs,  yacht  clubs,  ball  clubs,  billiard  clubs,  press  clubs, 
as  well  as  art,  literary,  and  merely  social  clubs.  In 
fact,  almost  every  game,  and  pleasure,  and  circle  of 
artists  and  literary  men,  has  its  nucleus  and  focus  in 
the  form  of  a  club,  and  club  life  of  some  sort  is  grow- 
ing more  and  more  in  favor  and  fashion. 

The  social  clubs  are,  however,  the  fashionable  and 
famous  ones,  because  of  the  wealth  and  character  of 
their  members,  and  the  luxury  and  elegance  of  the 
mansions  they  occupy.  The  best  known  and  most 
pretentious  of  these  are  the  Century  club.  No.  109 
East  Fifteenth  street;  Union  League  club,  corner 
Madison  avenue  and  Twenty-sixth  street ;  New- York 
club.  No.  2  East  Fifteenth  street ;  Union  club,  corner 
Twenty-first  street  and  Fifth  avenue  ;  Manhattan  club, 
corner  Fifteenth  street  and  Fifth  avenue ;  Travelers' 
club,"  No.  222  Fifth  Avenue;  Eclectic  club,  corner 
Twenty-sixth  street  and  Fifth  Avenue ;  City  club,  No. 
31  East  Seventeenth  street;  the  Harmonic  club,  Forty- 
second  street,  near  Fifth  Avenue;  Allemania,  No.  18 
East  Sixteenth  street ;  American  Jockey  club ;  Olympic 
club.  No.  16  Union  Place  ;  and  New- York  Yacht  club, 
club  house  at  Hoboken.  The  Athenaeum  club  was 
long  a  favorite  club,  but  dissolved  some  months  ago. 

These  clubs,  as  will  be  observed,  are  in  the  most 
fashionable  quarter,  and  the  houses  they  occupy  are 
among  the  handsomest  and  costliest  in  the  City..  Many 
of  them  were  private  dwellings,  but  required  little 
alteration  for  the  "new  purpose  to  which  they  were 
converted.  The  rent  of  the  club-houses  is  from  $8,000 
to  $20,000  a  year;  they  are  furnished  in  the  richest 
and  most  elegant  manner,   and  kept  up  in  princely 


444  The  Great  Metropolis. 

style.  The  initiation  fee  and  annual  dues  vary  from 
$50  to  $150  for  tlie  former,  and  $50  to  $100  for  the 
latter. 

The  club-houses  are  little  more  than  hotels  on  the 
European  plan,  where  one  pays  for  what  he  gets.  The 
members  have  no  rooms,  but  often  take  their  meals  at 
the  club;  while  others  attend  the  regular  meetings 
only,  and  pay  their  regular  dues.  Others,  again,  do 
not  go  there  once  a  year. 

The  members  vary  from  300  to  800,  half  of  whom 
are  usually  absentees  in  one  form  or  other.  They  in- 
clude almost  every  class.  Merchants,  clergymen,  law- 
yers, physicians,  authors,  journalists,  artists,  bankers 
are  eligible,  and  may  be  elected  if  formally  proposed 
and  regularly  balloted  for. 

In  most  of  the  clubs,  one  negative  vote  in  ten  is 
sufficient  for  a  "blackball"  or  defeat  of  the  candidate, 
so  that  it  is  well  for  persons  of  delicate  pride  and  sen- 
sibility to  learn  beforehand,  through  friends  who  are 
members,  what  will  be  their  chances  of  election. 

In  the  London  clubs,  lodgings  are  furnished  to  those 
who  desire  them ;  but  the  Union  League  is  the  only 
club  here  where  members  can  have  rooms  for  the 
night.  Other  club-houses  will  soon  imitate  the  Union 
League,  it  is  thought,  and  the  Metropolis  of  America 
will  become  in  that  respect  like  the  metropolis  of  Great 
Britain.  The  charge  for  meals  is  high,  usually ;  but 
they  are  excellently  served,  and  dining  at  one's  club 
is  quite  the  mode.  The  ordinary  expense  of  belong- 
ing to  a  club  is  light,  as  the  privileges  of  the  house  in 
no  instance  cost  more  than  $100  a  year. 

The  Century  club,  originally  a  sketch  club,  is  the 
oldest  here,  having  been  established  fully  thirty  years 


The  Clubs.  445 

ago.  It  is  considered  the  most  aristocratic  and  exclu- 
sive in  the  City,  and  the  most  difficult,  therefore,  of 
entree.  Many  months  of  notification  of  desire  to  be- 
come a  member  must  be  given,  that  the  character  and 
claims  of  the  candidate  may  be  duly  and  fully  consid- 
ered. Designed  originally  for  a  strictly  literary  and 
artistic  association,  it  has  departed  from  its  first  inten- 
tion, and  is  now  open  to  any  gentleman — any  one  so 
regarded,  at  least — whom  the  members  may  approve. 

William  Cullen  Bryant  is  president,  and  A.  Pt.  Mac- 
donough  secretary.  Among  its  members  are  Bierstadt, 
McEntee,  Gifibrd,  Gignoux  and  Cropsey,  the  artists; 
Bayard  Taylor,  George  Wm.  Curtis,  Parke  Goodwin 
and  William  Allen  Butler,  litterateurs  y  Pev.  Dr.  Bel- 
lows and  Dr.  Osgood,  clergymen ;  Edwin  Booth  and 
Lester  Wallack,  actors ;  John  Jacob  Astor,  Alexander 
T.  Stewart  and  August  Belmont,  millionaires.  Many 
other  of  the  prominent  merchants,  artists  and  authors 
belong  to  the  Century,  which  has  the  reputation  of 
having  ^' blackballed '^  more  candidates  than  all  the 
other  clubs  in  town. 

The  Union  League  and  Manhattan  are  political  clubs 
— the  former  republican  and  the  latter  democratic — 
the  most  prominent  members  of  the  two  parties  be- 
longing to  the  social  organizations.  Augustus  Schell 
is  president,  and  Manton  Marble  secretary  of  the  Man- 
hattan ;  of  the  Union  League,  John  Jay  is  president, 
and  J.  L.  Ward  secretary. 

The  Manhattan  was  begun  in  opposition  to  the  Union 
League.  John  Yan  Buren  and  Dean  Richmond  were 
leading  members  of  the  Manhattan ;  and  August  Bel- 
mont, Fernando  Wood,  Manton  Marble  of  the  World^ 
Erastus  and  James  Brooks  of  the  Express^  and  John 


446  The  Great  Metropolis. 

T.  Hoffman  are  at  present  active  members.  Horace 
Greeley,  Wm.  E.  Dodge,  Charles  A.  Dana,  Marshall 
0.  Roberts,  and  other  well  known  politicians  and  jour- 
nalists are  among  the  Union  Leaguers.  Programmes 
and  platforms  are  arranged  in  these  clubs,  and  the 
course  of  either  party  has  been  time  and  again  dictated 
from  Madison  and  Fifth  avenue. 

The  Travelers',  W.  B.  Duncan,  president,  F.  W.  J. 
Hurst,  treasurer,  was  primarily  intended  for  the  encour- 
agement and  entertainment  of  distinguished  travelers, 
and  Bayard  Taylor,  George  William  Curtis,  and  Her- 
man Melville,  and  other  wandering  New-Yorkers,  are 
honorary  members.  Most  foreigners  who  have  seen 
the  World  are  invited  there  on  their  arrival  in  the 
City,  and  frequently  lecture  before  the  club.  The 
Travelers',  however,  like  most  of  the  clubs,  has  tended 
more  and  more  to  a  social  form,  and  is  now  little  else 
than  a  mere  social  organization. 

The  Atheneeum  was  one  of  the  oldest  and  most 
popular  of  the  City  clubs.  Literature  and  art  gave  it 
its  rise,  and  membership  was  at  first  confined  to  per- 
sons of  those  guilds.  After  two  or  three  years'  exist- 
ence, it  was  deemed  wise  to  include  men  of  other 
callings ;  and  it  was  placed  on  a  footing  with  the  rest. 
More  journalists  belonged  to  the  Athenaeum  than  to 
any  other  club ;  and  its  quarterly  receptions,  when 
several  hundred  guests  were  invited,  were  very  pleas- 
ant occasions.  The  evenings  were  spent  convivially 
and  conversationally,  and  as  clever  a  set  of  fellows, 
both  in  the  European  and  American  sense,  were  there 
brought  together,  as  can  be  found  anywhere  in  Man- 
hattan. Mismanagement  and  reckless  extravagance 
brought  the  popular  club  to  an  untimely  end. 


The  Clubs.  447 

The  New- York,  H.  H.  Ward,  president,  J.  F.  Rug- 
gles,  secretary;  Union,  Moses  H.  Grinnell,  president, 
J.  Grenville  Kane,  secretary;  City,  C.  L.  Tiffimy,  pres- 
ident, S.  Crocker,  secretary,  and  Eclectic  clubs,  Henry 
J.  Scudder,  president,  A.  G.  Montgomery,  Jr.,  secretary, 
are  entirely  private  and  social;  and  membership  is 
mainly  confined  to  men  of  fortune,  who  live  on  their 
incomes,  and  are  not  engaged  in  active  pursuits  of  any 
kind.  The  New- York,  Union  and  Eclectic  have 
splendid  club-houses,  and  everything  in  and  about 
them  is  in  the  most  expensive  style.  Few,  if  any, 
persons  known  to  fame  belong  to  those  organizations, 
which  hold  wealth  and  fashion  above  character  and 
culture. 

The  members  figure  conspicuously  in  the  Park  drives 
and  in  Fifth  avenue  Germans,  at  Saratoga-hops  and 
morning  service  in  Grace  Church,  at  the  Academy  and 
late  Delmonico  suppers.  They  wear  the  sleekest  of 
silk  hats,  the  shortest  of  sack-coats,  the  most  elegant 
of  pantaloons,  and  the  daintiest  of  gloves  that  are  visi- 
ble of  an  afternoon  promenade  in  Broadway. 

They  lounge  their  lives  away  luxuriously,  if  not 
profitably,  and  have  clerical  falsehoods  drawled  over 
their  silver-mounted  coffins  before  they  are  deposited 
in  family  vaults  at  Greenwood  and  fashionably  for- 
gotten. 

The  American  Jockey  Club,  August  Belmont  presi- 
dent, John  B.  Irving  secretary,  were  to  occupy  the 
handsome  club  house  of  the  Union  League,  but  aban- 
doned their  intent  when  it  was  completed.  The  mem- 
bers have  a  pleasant  house  near  the  Jerome  Park, 
Fordham,  where  they  often  go ;  but  they  have  no  par- 
ticular place  of  rendezvous  in  town. 


448  The  Great  Metropolis. 

The  Harmonie,  M.  Siegman  president,  Leopold  Cahn 
secretary,  is  a  Hebrew  club.  The  members  are  wealthy, 
and  have  a  fine  house  most  elegantly  furnished.  The 
Allemania  is  a  German  club  composed  mainly  of  im- 
porters and  retired  merchants.  The  Yacht  club,  H. 
G.  Stebbins  commodore,  Hamilton  Morton  secretary, 
exhibits  itself  upon  the  water  more  than  upon  land, 
and  is  famous  for  its  fine  marine  performances. 

The  Herald  has  a  club  composed  of  members  who 
are  or  have  been  connected  with  the  paper,  and  meet 
at  a  dinner  once  a  year.  The  Tribune  has  or  had  a 
club  which  included  a  number  of  literary  men  and 
women  of  distinction, — among  them  Horace  Greeley, 
George  William  Curtis,  Bayard  Taylor,  George  Eipley, 
Edmund  Clarence  Stedman,  Alice  and  Phoebe  Carey, 
Lucia  Gilbert  Calhoun,  Kate  Field,  and  others.  It  has 
not  met  for  a  long  while,  and  is  in  a  sleep  so  profound 
as  to  be  an  excellent  counterfeit  of  death. 

The  Press  club  formed  a  year  ago  will  flourish,  it  is 
to  be  hoped,  though  no  one  can  determine  if  the  repre- 
sentatives of  the  different  dailies  will  co-operate  with 
each  other  in  perpetuating  such  an  organization. 

The  New- York  journalists  are  often  very  narrow  and 
envious.  They  are  lacking  in  esprit  de  corps  and  gen- 
erosity of  feeling  for  each  other.  The  smallest  jealous- 
ies characterize  many  of  the  order  of  Metropolitan 
scribes,  so  much  so  that  all  attempts  thus  far  to  create 
a  catholic  and  fraternal  feeling  among  them  have  been 
signal  failures. 

A  new  bachelors'  club,  it  is  said,  has  recently  been 
formed  in  the  City,  and  the  members,  already  number- 
ing several  hundreds,  have  rented  a  handsome  house  in 
Lexington  avenue.     Celibacy  is  required  for  eligibility. 


The  Clubs.  449 

and  no  one  is  admitted  who  is  not  25  years  old.  The 
members,  so  reports  run,  are  young  men  of  good  fam- 
ily, and  fashionable,  for  the  most  part,  and  have  en- 
tered the  organization  more  to  protest  against  wedlock 
than  from  any  inadequacy  of  means  to  support  wives. 
Some  of  them  have  incomes  of  $20,000  to  $40,000; 
and  that  sum,  with  care  and  economy,  will  provide,  in 
Manhattan,  for  a  woman  who  has  no  social  ambition 
and  no  fondness  for  parade.  They  are  not  bachelors, 
I  fear,  in  any  true  sense  ;  but  they  have  elected  to  live 
with  the  moral  freedom  which  marks  Paris  and  the 
continental  cities  generally.  Bachelorhood  is  apt  to 
be  pleasant  to  men  until  fifty,  at  least ;  but,  after  that, 
they  lose  much  of  their  passion  for  adventure;  women 
grow  less  fond  of  them;  their  days  of  sentimental  ex- 
periences are  on  the  wane;  they  wax  conservative, 
and  begin  to  want  some  feminine  creature  who  wildly 
worships  them,  and  longs  to  be  enslaved  by  her  own 
affections.  The  instinct  of  tyrant  man  asserts  itself, 
and  it  is  usually  obeyed. 

Quite  a  passion  seems  to  have  manifested  itself  in 
the  City  for  feminine  organizations, — more  than  half  a 
dozen  having  been  formed,  if  rumors  may  be  believed, 
within  as  many  months.  From  every  one  of  them  men 
are  rigorously  excluded ;  and,  it  is  said,  this  is  a  kind 
of  womanly  revenge  for  the  establishment. of  wholly 
masculine  clubs.  An  effort  has  been  made  in  the  pet- 
ticoat fraternities,  by  some  of  the  sentimental  members, 
to  admit  the  lords  of  creation ;  but  the  sterner  sisters 
have  frowned  down  the  incipient  weakness, — declaring 
that  the  life  of  their  peculiar  organizations  depended 
upon  rigid  adherence  to  the  rule. 

The  proceedings  of  the  feminine  clubs  are  kept  as 


450  The  Great  Metropolis. 

secret  as  lliej  can  be,  considering  tlie  nature  of  their 
composition.  From  floating  gossip,  I  have  learned 
something  of  their  character. 

The  Sorosis,  or  Blue  Stocking  Club,  as  it  has  been 
called,  is  composed  chiefly  of  literary  women  and  femi- 
nine artists.  It  was  formed  last  Spring,  and  has  been 
the  subject  of  interminable  comment  in  the  City,  and  par- 
ticularly in  the  country  press.  Some  of  its  members 
are  Alice  and  Phoebe  Carey,  Kate  Field,  Lucia  Gilbert 
Calhoun,  Octavia  Walton  Levert,  Mary  E.  Dodge,  Sarah 
F,  Ames,  Jennie  C.  Croley,  and  Mary  Clemmer  Ames. 
The  Sorosis  has  no  special  purpose  beyond  enjoyment 
and  the  formation  of  a  nucleus  for  women  of  liberal 
mind  and  cultivated  taste.  The  members  meet  every 
month  at  a  luncheon  at  the  upper  Delmonico's,  and 
have  a  pleasant  time.  They  have  once  accepted  the 
invitation  of  the  Press  Club,  between  which  and  their 
own  there  seems  a  strong  bond  of  affinity.  They  are 
agreeable  and  accomplished  women,  and  their  unpre- 
tending organization  is  deserving  of  commendation. 

Another  one  of  the  clubs  consists  of  women  who  are 
spiritualists,  but  don't  want  to  be  known  as  such. 
Many  of  them  are  mediums;  but,  fearful  of  ridicule, 
they  meet  in  strict  privacy.  They  claim  that  the  spirits 
of  their  friends  and  of  distinguished  persons  communi- 
cate more  freely  with  women,  fully  in  sympathy  with 
the  supersensual  doctrines,  than  they  would  if  men, 
naturally  hard  and  skeptical,  were  present.  Not  a  few 
of  the  spiritual  sisters  belong  to  fashionable  society, 
and  some  of  them  are  known  in  literature.  All  of 
them  assume  to  have  advanced  much  higher,  and  to 
have  more  thorough  acquaintance  with  affairs  in  the 
other  world,   than  any  of  the  common   spiritualists. 


The  Clubs.  451 

Their  seances  are  said  to  be  very  interesting.  They 
who  attend  thern  are  reported  to  "take  on"  alarm- 
ingly at  times, — talking,  laughing,  and  weeping  with 
the  dear  departed  as  they  would  were  the  spirits  in  the 
flesh. 

Still  another  club  is  composed  of  woman's  rights 
women  who  seek  to  avoid  publicity.  They  are  not  so 
ultra  as  the  Cady  and  Anthony  school,  having  no  de- 
sire to  vote ;  but  they  demand  the  same  rights  in  pro- 
perty, society,  and  morals,  that  men  have.  The  ma- 
jority of  them  are  married,  and  confide  to  one  another 
the  secrets  of  their  households.  Their  woes  are  re- 
lieved by  sympathy,  and  they  find  much  comfort,  as 
women  always  do,  in  pouring  out  their  inner  lives  to 
each  other.  They  give  counsel  to  one  another,  and 
they  believe  they  receive  vast  benefit  from  the  associa- 
tion. The  married  say,  too,  that  the  perfect  freedom 
they  have  in  the  club  renders  them  more  loyal  and 
secure.  The  organization  prevents  them  from  tempta- 
tion, and  from  confiding  in  some  man  beside  their  hus- 
band, which  they  are  right  in  considering  the  first  and 
most  perilous  step  a  wife  can  take. 

A  fourth  club  is  made  up  of  young  women,  belong- 
ing to  the  same  "set,"  who  have  banded  together  for 
the  purpose  of  making  eligible*  matches,  and  to  find 
out  whether  the  men  who  pay  them  marked  attention 
are  really  in  love  with  them.  By  such  means,  they 
are  apt  to  detect  deceivers  and  mere  flirts,  many  of 
whom  are  said  to  have  been  surprised  at  the  sudden 
repulses  received  from  girls  they  had  fancied  despe- 
rately enamored. 

Emma  informs  Mary  what  Charles  has  said;  and 
Bessie  tells  Nellie  what  Augustus  has  vowed  by  the 


452  The  Great  Metropolis. 

light  of  her  eyes.  So,  when  Charles  or  Augustus 
comes  to  repeat  his  gallant  speeches  to  a  second  or 
third  fair  one,  he  is  confounded  by  the  revelation  of 
his  own  perfidy. 

No  one  can  doubt  this  is  an  excellent  society,  and 
ought  to  be  styled  the  "Unwedded  Woman's  Heart- 
protecting  Association." 

A  fifth  club  is  composed  of  maids,  wives  and  wid- 
ows, who  meet  at  such  times  as  a  committee  may  ap- 
point. Their  object  is,  I  understand,  merely  to  have 
a  ''good  time;"  and  they  have  one  with  chatting, 
music,  wine,  and  the  discussion  of  the  virtues  and  vices 
of  their  masculine  intimates.  I  should  suppose  that 
would  be  the  most  entertaining  of  any  of  the  clubs, 
and  that  any  Peeping  Tom  might  be  paid  for  his  curi- 
osity. I  hear  the  applications  for  membership  to  that 
society  are  much  more  numerous  than  to  any  other. 
Women  are  such  ardent  lovers  and  pursuers  of  pleas- 
ure that  a  "good  time,"  with  them,  must  mean  some- 
thing. I  opine  a  fit  motto  for  them  would  be  Pope's 
ffimiliar  couplet : 

Some  men  to  pleasure,  some  to  business  take ; 
But  every  woman  is  at  heart  a  rake. 

The  sixth  class  is  composed  of  actresses  of  an  in- 
ferior grade,  including  a  number  of  ballet-girls,  and 
very  much  resembles  a  benevolent  society.  The  mem- 
bers pay  so  much  into  the  treasury  every  month ;  and 
when  any  one  of  them  is  out  of  a  situation,  she  is 
assisted  to  obtain  a  new  one,  or  receives  a  certain  sum 
for  her  support.  Several  of  the  leading  actresses  have 
solicited  the  privilege  of  becoming  honorary  mem- 
bers, and  have  been  very  liberal  in  their  donations. 
Every  theater  in  the  City  is  represented;  and  the 
Dramatic  club  may  do  much  good. 


J 


The  Clubs.  453 

The  seventh  club  consists  of  the  class  known  as 
"unfortunate  women."  They  seem  to  recognize  pros- 
titution as  unavoidable  in  the  present  condition  of 
society.  They  make  no  effort  toward  reform,  but  aim 
to  help  with  money  those  who  are  sick,  indigent  or 
aged.  They  say  they  have  befriended  a  great  many 
of  their  fallen  sisters,  having,  in  numerous  instances, 
preserved  them  from  self-destruction.  Singular  and 
*one- sided  as  this  charity  is,  it  is  far  better  than  none, 
and  may  lead  to  means  of  prevention  among  the  most 
wretched  class  of  beings  over  whom  the  heavens 
bend. 

Club-life  is  not  materially  different  from  life  at  the 
Brevoort,  or  Hoffman,  or  St.  James',  except  that  it  is 
more  private  and  exclusive,  and  passed  outside  of  the 
society  of  women,  v/ho  are  not  admitted  to  the  club- 
house in  any  other  capacity  than  as  domestics. 

Women  are  inclined  to  say,  if  not  to  think,  that 
clubs  are  the  dullest  and  dreariest  places  in  creation, 
because  they  are  excluded  from  them.  But  candor 
compels  me  to  say,  although  I  do  not  wish  to  violate 
the  sanctity  of  the  confessional,  that  club-houses  are 
quite  as  pleasant  as  many  houses  which  pretend  to 
include  paradise  within  their  limits.  They  are  quiet, 
well  ordered,  properly  managed,  and  bountifully  sup- 
plied ;  and  what  more  could  a  reasonable  man  ask  ? 

The  members  lounge,  read,  smoke,  talk^  play  billiards, 
cards  and  chess.  They  have  the  leading  papers  and 
magazines,  domestic  and  foreign ;  and,  on  the  whole, 
enjoy  themselves  very  tolerably.  Some  of  the  mem- 
bers are  at  the  club  twelve  or  fourteen  hours  out  of 
the  twenty-four,  while  others  do  not  go  there  once  a 
week.     There  are  as  many  married  as  single  members, 


454  The  Great  Metropolis. 

and  the  former  are  often  the  most  regular  frequenters ; 
while  those  who  have  pleasant  homes  and  affectionate 
wives  are  rare  visitors.  When  a  home  is  happy,  the 
club  loses  much  of  its  attractiveness. 

I  fancy  a  feminine  reader  interjecting  something 
about  woman's  bright  smiles  and  sweet  sympathy,  the 
prattle  of  little  children,  and  the  music  of  their  tiny 
feet.  That  is  a  very  pleasant  picture;  but  it  has  its 
disagreeable  reverse. 

Women  weep  as  well  as  smile,  and  indulge  in  tan- 
trums as  well  as  sympathies  ;  and  children's  lungs  and 
limbs  are  not  always  exercised  as  poetry  and  parents 
would  have  them.  So  men  without  any  particular 
inclination  to  domesticity,  live  very  calmly  and  con- 
tentedly at  clubs. 

"  What  do  you  men  do  ?  How  do  you  amuse  your- 
selves without  us  ?  "  asks  Ida,  the  inquisitive,  of  a  club 
member. 

And  he  answers : 

"  We  do  well  enough.  We  find  amusement,  interest, 
instruction — call  it  what  you  may — looking  at  life 
through  the  windows;  in  reading,  smoking,  dining 
with  a  few  agreeable  fellows;  hearing  the  gossip  of 
Society,  without  making  part  of  it ;  lounging  the  days 
and  nights  away  serenely,  undisturbed  by  flirtations, 
and  unhaunted  by  visions  of  sentimental  scenes  that 
may  be  postponed,  but  cannot  be  avoided." 

"But  what  do  the  husbands  and  fathers  mean  by 
staying  away  from  their  wives  and  children  in  that 
manner  ?  " 

'•  It  has  been  so  long  since  I  was  a  Benedick  and  a 
paterfamilies  that  I  cannot  remember.  But  I  presume 
the  charming  family  gets  along  quite  as  comfortably 


I 


The  Clubs.  455 

without  the  member  of  the  club  as  he  without  them ; 
and  I  am  bound  to  say  he  seems  beyond  the  need  of 
consolation  as  he  watches  his  smoke-wreaths  with  a 
merry  twinkle  in  his  eye,  and  with  a  certain  air  of 
indulging  in  an  interdicted  and,  therefore,  delicious 
pleasure." 

'•But  I  think  it  is  abominable  for  men  to  act  that 
way ;  and  I  wouldn't  marry  a  man  who  belonged  to  a 
club,"  declares  Inez  with  temper,  which  she  considers 
the  sweet  sympathy  of  the  sex. 

A  cynic  replies : 

"Adhere  to  that,  my  dear  child,  and  the  membership 
of  clubs  will  increase  accordingly." 

'^  Now  you  are  hateful.  That's  the  effect  of  belong- 
ing to  a  club.  I  guess  many  of  the  members  of  your 
club  would  be  only  too  glad  to  have  me  for  a  wife." 

Perhaps  they  would.  There  are  a  good  many  muffs 
in  the  concern." 

^'Now,  I 1 " 

"^  By  Jove !  IVe  raised  a  scene,"  continues  the  cynic ; 
the  woman's  weeping.  What  shall  I  do  ?  While  the 
tears  flow  I'll  light  my  cigar,  and  think  whether  I  had 
better  kiss  the  pretty  simpleton  or  run  away." 


CHAPTER   LI. 
THE     BEGGARS 

The  common  remark  of  foreigners  visiting  the  United 
States  that     there  are  so  few  beggars  in  this  country, 
will  soon  cease  to  be  true  if  all  the  American  cities  de- 
velop public  mendicancy  like  New-York. 

The  Metropolis,  I  suspect,  has  as  many  professional 
beggars  as  all  the  other  cities  of  the  Republic  combined, 
and  the  number  seems  steadily  and  rapidly  increasing. 
With  very  rare  exceptions,  however,  the  eleemosynary 
tribe  is  composed  of  foreigners,  who,  devoid  both  of 
the  pride  and  energy  of  the  Americans,  take  to  the 
pitiable  calling  very  kindly,  even  if  they  have  not  fol- 
lowed it  before  leaving  home. 

The  number  of  beggars  varies  here  with  years,  sea- 
sons and  business.  When  times  are  dull,  the  tribe  in- 
creases, and  when  they  are  active  it  increases  also,  for 
then  more  strangers  are  in  town  and  the  field  of  ope- 
rations is  larger.  In  the  Spring  and  Summer  it  is  more 
convenient  and  comfortable  to  be  abroad,  and  the  warm 
sunshine  acts  upon  mendicants  as  it  does  upon  flowers 
and  women, — bringing  them  out  in  profusion.  During 
a  period  of  commercial  depression,  alms-seekers  aug- 
ment perceptibly,  many  of  them,  no  doubt,  being 
forced  to  solicit  charity  by  stern  necessity,  and  others 
expecting  to  profit  by  the  sympathy  created  through 


The  Beggars. 


457 


the  Press  in  behalf  of  the  suiFering  poor.  Each  year, 
however,  owing  to  the  vast  immigration  and  the  ten- 
dency of  foreigners  to  settle  in  cities,  the  list  of  beg- 
gars swells.  Twenty  years  ago  beggars  were  compara- 
tively rare,  and  even  ten  years  since,  there  was  hardly 
one  where  five  may  be  counted  now. 

The  number  of  professional  mendicants  in  New-York 
is  estimated  at  five  or  six  thousand,  with  several  thou- 
sand amateurs  and  persons  of  both  sexes  who  embrace 
the  vocation  when  the  harvest  promises  an  abundant 
yield. 

The  varieties  for  the  most  part  are  four — cripples 

and  the  sick,  children, 
impostors,  and  pretend- 
ers —  the  third  class 
being  the  largest  and 
most  characteristic,  in- 
cluding many  of  the 
most  curious  specimens, 
and  requiring  ability 
and  enterprise  above 
the  others. 
The  notorious  beggars 
STREET  BEGGAB.  of  Ncw-York,  who  had 

become  familiar  to  the  public  through  a  series  of  years, 
have  disappeared  since  the  War — at  least  most  of  them. 
The  half  dozen  old  blind  men  who  were  seen  in  Broad- 
way every  fair  day  as  regularly  as  Trinity  clock  sound- 
ed, the  ancient  hag  in  the  vicinity  of  Fulton  ferry,  the 
armless  Frenchman  near  Hanover  square,  the  hideous 
humpback  in  Canal  street,  the  shriveled  witch  and  leg- 
less skeleton  in  the  Bowery,  have  retired  either  from 
life  or  business.      The  Mackerelville  dwarf  the  nose- 


458  The  Great  Metropolis. 

less  Pole,  the  crippled  Italian  who  pretended  to  have 
fought  through  all  the  Napoleonic  wars,  the  wooden- 
limbed  sailor  who  sang  ballads  in  Water  street  and 
swore  roundly  that  he  was  with  Perry  on  the  lakes, 
and  even  the  gray-haired  fury  that  frightened  the 
frowsy  children  in  the  Sixth  ward,  have  stepped  into 
the  poor-house  or  the  grave. 

But  another  order  of  beggars  is  waxing  visible, — 
beggars  of  larger  scope  and  higher  aspirations,  more 
ambitious  and  enterprising,  more  daring,  original  and 
fruitful  of  resources,  more  reflective  of  the  country  and 
the  time.  Every  ship  that  reaches  Castle  Garden  is 
importing  them,  and  the  day  may  not  be  remote  when 
we  shall  rival  London  in  hordes  of  alms-seekers. 

Of  all  the  cities  of  the  world.  New  York  is  the  best 
for  beggars  to  thrive  in ;  for  Americans  are  more  care- 
less of  money  and  more  charitable  than  any  people 
under  the  sun,  and  Gotham  gives,  unquestioning,  with 
open  hand. 

The  fame  of  Manhattan  has  doubtless  gone  abroad, 
and  every  nation,  will  send  her  beggars  to  us  in  in- 
creased numbers.  They  are  unpleasant  additions ;  but 
there  is  room  for  them  all,  and  credulity  and  alms  for 
every  mother's  son  and  daughter  who  makes  a  wry 
face,  and  puts  forth  an  empty  hand. 

As  it  is,  beggars  penetrate  every  quarter  and  corner 
of  the  town.  You  dare  not  leave  your  front  door  open, 
lest  they  enter  your  library  or  private  chamber  with  a 
face  that  would  curdle  milk.  They  steal  into  every 
hotel  drawing-room,  in  spite  of  porters  and  servants, 
and  show  you  their  lacerated  forms.  They  come  be- 
tween you  and  your  friends  in  Broadway  whom  you 
have  not  seen  since  boyhood,  and  thrust  their  sickening 


The  Beggars.  459 

rags  into  your  very  face.  They  are  under  your  feet 
while  you  listen  to  the  sentimental  confidences  of  Dora 
or  Drusalinda,  and  pluck  your  gloved  hand  from  Al- 
thea's  graceful  arm  as  you  offer  to  assist  her  to  her 
carriage  in  Irving  place. 

The  first  class  meet  with  the  quickest  sympathy 
and  receive  the  readiest  assistance  ;  for  no  man 
of  feeling  can  see  a  blind,  or  maimed  or  diseased 
person  without  a  touch  of  pity  and  a  prompting  to 
charity.  Everybody  knows  there  is  ample  provision 
in  the  public  institutions  for  such,  and  that  they  would 
be  a  great  deal  better  off  there  than  exposing  them- 
selves to  sun  and  storm,  to  painful  attitudes  and  ex- 
cruciating grimaces,  for  artistic  and  pecuniary  effect. 
But,  to  the  credit  of  humanity  be  it  said,^  our  pity  for 
suffering  and  our  desire  to  relieve  it  are  so  great  we 
can  hardly  help  giving  a  trifle  on  principle ;  though  it 
often  happens  that,  for  the  sake  of  freeing  ourselves 
from  annoyance  or  the  contemplation  of  pain,  we 
bestow  unwilling  alms. 

The  sick  and  crippled  are  attended,  of  course,  by 
some  one  who  does  the  talking  and  describes  the  woe. 
And  this  companion  of  misfortune  is  either  a  relative 
of  the  afflicted  or  an  employe  who  receives  a  propor- 
tion of  the  receipts  for  his  services. 

The  most  unpleasant  thing  connected  with  this  class 
is,  that  the  cripple  or  his  agent  insists  upon  proving 
to  3^ou  ocularly  that  there  is  no  deceit  or  imposition  in 
the  case.  To  that  end,  shriveled  limbs,  unsightly 
stumps,  ghastly  wounds,  and  festering  sores  are  re- 
vealed before  you  can  take  your  money  from  your 
purse  or  get  out  of  sight.  When  you  are  on  your  way 
to  dinner,  or  to  visit  your  beloved,  or  have  composed 
in  your  mind  the  last  stanza  of  the  new  poem  that  has 


460  The  Great  Metropolis. 

given  you  such  trouble,  it  is  not  agreeable  to  be  con- 
fronted by  some  loathsome  vision.  You  would  have 
paid  liberally  to  have  been  saved  such  an  exhibition, 
and  do  pay  promptly  to  be  favored  with  as  little  of  it 
as  possible. 

Beyond  question,  this  revelation  of  hideousness  is  a 
trick  of  the  trade ;  the  wretched  mendicants  know 
that  sensibility  will  convert  itself  into  charity  rather 
than  be  shocked.  They  have  discovered  that  prepa- 
rations for  exhibition  have  a  quickening  effect  on 
purse-strings  and  a  certain  carelessness  respecting 
change.  I  have  more  than  once  observed  grim  smiles 
of  satisfaction  on  pallid  and  repulsive  faces  when  such 
words  as  "Here's  something;  for  Heaven's  sake  don't 
show  it  to  me!"  have  reached  their  ears. 

Begging  one  would  suppose  the  hardest  of  lives, 
particularly  for  the  halt  or  the  invalid,  and  yet,  such  ' 
is  the  singularity  of  temperament,  persons  without 
health,  or  strength,  or  perfect  limbs,  will  endure  day 
after  day  what  no  one  of  vigorous  constitution  would 
for  the  income  of  Astor  or  Stewart.  How  they  live 
through  it  all  is  beyond  solution.  But  they  do,  and 
apparently  are  not  harmed  by  it.  Year  after  year 
they  sit  in  the  broiling  sun,  or  under  the  descending 
storm,  with  a  sublime  patience  worthy  the  admiration 
of  the  gods.  Begging  is  their  destiny,  and  they  seem 
so  superior  to  the  laws  governing  the  rest  of  mankind 
that  I  am  convinced  beggars  are  the  only  immortals. 

The  second  class  are  usually  the  healthiest  and  cheer- 
fulest  children  in  the  City.  They  are  rosy,  but  dirty ; 
robust  but  ragged ;  and  enjoy  begging  as  they  do 
sweetmeats.  Many  of  them  are  sent  by  their  parents 
into  the  streets  to  ply  their  vocation,  but  more  are  en- 


The  Beggars.  461 

gaged  in  it  on  their  own  account.  They  are  generally 
amusing,  and  some  of  their  efforts  at  deception  are 
very  droll.  They  are  too  young  and  natural  to  be  ar- 
tistic, and  consequently  they  blunder  not  a  little. 

As  you  come  round  the  corner  of  Fourteenth  street 
from  Broadway  you  see  several  of  them  playing  and 
laughing  merrily ;  but  the  moment  they  espy  you  they 
go  apart,  assume  a  most  woe-begone  expression  of 
countenance,  advance  to  you  with  outstretched  hands, 
muttering,  "Please  help  a  poor  boy  whose  father's 
dead  and  mother's  twelve, small  children," — all  in  one 
word.  They  follow  you  the  length  of  half  the  block 
sometimes  if  they  see  a  penny  in  your  eye,  reluctant 
to  surrender  hope.  But  if  you  go  on  without  regard- 
ing them,  they  turn  away,  and  laugh  and  play  again 
until  the  next  stranger  appears. 

The  juvenile  vagabonds  are  frequently  beaten  at 
night  by  their  unnatural  parents  if  they  bring  home  no 
money.  But  the  children  so  soon  learn  to  cheat  and 
lie,  and  steal,  as  to  prevent  such  punishment.  If  they 
have  one  good  day,  they  save  over  a  part  of  their  re- 
ceipts for  a  bad  one.  If  they  get  too  Httle  they  steal 
something  and  sell  it.  And,  after  a  certain  amount  of 
experience,  learning  their  own  efficiency,  they  run 
away  from  their  parents  and  set  up  for  themselves, 
until  they  find  their  way  to  the  Tombs  or  Blackwell's 
island. 

Not  a  few  of  the  children  are  pale  and  haggard,  and 
sad-eyed,  reminding  you  of  Smike,  Oliver  Twist,  or 
Little  Nell,  with  the  promise  of  better  things  in  them. 
With  education  and  training,  they  would  be  intelligent 
and  worthy  men  and  women.  Their  little  eyes  look 
appealingly  at  you,  and  mayhap  you  try  to  do  some- 


•  462  The  Great  Metropolis. 

thing  for  tliem.  But,  unless  you  take  them  from  their 
surroundings,  they  become  necessarily  corrupt,  and  sink 
below  the  reach  of  reform.  Poisoned  air  and  poisoned 
example  are  too  potent,  and  they  graduate  at  last 
into  barkeepers,  and  burglars,  and  ward-politicians. 

The  impostors  might  be  termed  the  intellectual  class, 
for  they  require  invention,  expedients,  originality  and 
tact.  They,  more  than  any  of  the  others,  are  born  to 
their  calling,  and  are  artists  after  a  certain  fashion. 
Like  their  fellows  they  pay  a  very  high  price  for  the 
smallest  success  ;  but  they  enter  into  and  prosecute 
their  profession  with  enthusiasm,  and  rejoice  over  the 
cleverness  with  which  they  cheat  the  public.  They 
have  much  of  the  dramatic  element  in  them,  playing 
parts  often  more  skillfully  than  the  actors  in  Broad- 
way. 

They  represent  blind  men  one  day,  cripples  the  next, 
wounded  soldiers  the  third,  robbed  immigrants  the 
fourth,  southern  Union  refugees  the  fifth,  discharged 
laborers  the  sixth,  and  victims  of  a  railway  accident 
the  seventh.  They  make  up  admirably ;  hide  one  eye, 
conceal  an  arm  or  leg,  create  a  cicatrice,  simulate  a 
sore,  counterfeit  an  agony,  imitate  a  grief,  in  a  man- 
ner that  would  yield  them  histrionic  laurels. 

They  are  jolly  fellows  in  their  way.  They  usually 
spend  freely  at  night  what  they  have  earned  by  day. 
They  drink,  gamble,  lay  wagers  on  dog  and  cock 
fights,  and  are  splendidly  improvident,  on  a  small 
scale ;  for  have  they  not  genius  that  can  be  converted 
into  postal  currency  or  national  banknotes  at  twenty- 
four  hoiirs  notice  ? 

A  large  portion  of  these  are  the  men  and  women 
who  have  led  similar  lives  in  Europe,  and  who  have 


The  Beggars.  463 

come  to  America  induced  by  the  accounts  they  have 
heard  of  its  excellence  as  a  field  for  their  peculiar  tal- 
ents. They  are  the  borrowers  of  children  and 
babies,  the  offerers  of  certificates  of  worthiness,  of  dis- 
charge papers  from  the  army,  of  letters  of  recommen- 
dation from  "well-known  citizens";  and  every  other 
conceivable  fraud  of  person,  manner  and  document. 
They  probably  get  more  money  than  any  other  class, 
as  is  natural  enough,  for  properly  directed  and  intelli- 
gent effort  always  has  an  advantage  over  desultory  la- 
bors. 

In  spite  of  their  disguise,  they  stand  in  a  little  awe 
of  New-Yorkers,  and  prefer  to  practice  their  arts  on 
strangers  and  people  from  the  country,  being  much 
surer  of  appreciation  and  recognition  from  that  quarter. 
Like  most  persons  of  originality  and  individuality,  they 
have  strange  episodes  and  crises  in  their  lives,  and 
usually  die  dramatically  by  knife  or  revolver,  delirium 
tremens  or  suicide.  They  hate  quiet  existences,  as 
Harry  Percy  did,  and,  like  the  fiery  Scot,  have  a  pen- 
chant for  breathing  their  last  with  their  boots  on. 

The  fourth  class  are  they  who  make  an  assumption 
of  giving  an  equivalent  for  charity.  They  carry  about 
or  have  with  them  detestable  cigars  that  would  not 
have  smoked  in  the  great  New- York  fire,  cheap  bal- 
lads, papers  of  pointless  pins,  withered  bouquets,  un- 
readable books,  and  the  like,  accompanied  with  mum- 
bled utterances  concerning  extreme  poverty  or  pe- 
culiar misfortune.  Often  they  have  dyspeptic^^  bag- 
pipes, or  broken  fiddles,  or  consumptive  accordeons, 
which  any  person  of  sound  hearing  is  willing  to  pay  to 
stop.  As  no  one  ever  takes  any  of  their  merchandise, 
their  stock,  however  small,  will  last  for  a  season. 


464  The  Great  Metropolis. 

This  class  congregates  mostly  about  the  City  Hall 
park,  where  last  year  an  irrepressible  fiddler,  who 
never  knew  a  note,  was  paid  a  certain  sum  by  the 
newspapers  to  go  elsewhere,  and  where  a  veteran  bag- 
piper is  now  receiving  proposals  to  the  same  effect. 
The  pretenders  also  infest  Broadway  as  far  as  Union 
Square,  and  show  an  unwelcome  fondness  for  Four- 
teenth street,  Fifth,  Lexington  and  Madison  avenues. 

Oh  well,  let  them  obey  their  instincts.  They  are 
human,  though  unfortunate.  They  are  annoying  and 
irritating,  but  they  have  a  hard  lot,  and  perhaps  de- 
serve more  than  they  get  for  their  trouble  in  asking. 
Ninety-nine  out  of  every  hundred  are  impostors  or 
professionals ;  but  the  one  before  you  may  be  the  ex- 
ception and  really  suffering.  What  you  give  will  not 
harm  you,  and  may  serve  him  much.  It  is  better  to 
be  deceived  all  your  life  than  once  to  withhold  from 
the  truly  needy. 

When  you  have  come  to  such  conclusion,  and  act 
upon  it,  you  will  probably  find  by  the  first  experiment 
that  you  have  been  dei^eived. 

The  other  day  an  old  woman,  having  a  few  apples 
and  a  little  candy  to  sell,  was  set  upon  in  Broadway 
by  a  drunken  sailor  who  knocked  her  down  and  hurled 
her  humble  wares  into  the  gutter.  The  ruffian  got 
away;  but  the  crowd  pitying  her,  made  up  a  little 
purse^  for  her.  A  curious  reporter  followed  her  to  the 
Bowery ;  and  there  the  scene  was  re-enacted  exactly 
and  completely.  It  was  repeated  a  third  and  fourth 
time,  and  the  performance  was  always  creditably  given. 
The  fellow  who  played  the  drunken  sailor  was  the 
woman's  husband,  and  the  two  made  money  by  thei 
original  performance. 


The  Beggars. 


4G5 


The  fortunes  of  mendicg^nts  are  usually  the  creations 
of  journalists  and  letter-writers.  Few  beggars  die  with 
any  considerable  sums  of  money,  for  they  either  squan- 
der it,  even  after  long  hoarding,  or  it  is  stolen  by  their 
own  class.  They  adhere,  most  of  them,  with  a  strange 
perseverance  and  perversity,  to  their  calling.  Beg- 
ging must  have  a  species  of  infatuation,  like  burgla- 
ry, war,  the  stage,  and  journalism.  The  New- York 
mendicants  usually  live  in  noisome  cellars  and  gar- 
rets, in  the  Fourth,  Sixth  and  Eighteenth  wards ; 
live  in  a  wretched  manner,  that  Crabbe  would  have 
delighted  to  describe ;  live  away  from  sunlight  and 
pure  air;  live  worse  than  the  swine  until  all  the 
sweetness  of  nature  is  crowded  out  of  their  ill-condi- 
tioned souls,  and  they  find  the  only  peace  possible  to 
them  in  the  grave,  most  charitable  of  all  alms-givers 
to  the  wretched  and  forsaken. 


MACKERELVILLE  TURN-OUT. 


30 


CHAPTER   LII. 
STREET-RAILWAYS. 

New- York  is  much  better  shaped  for  a  cucumber 
than  a  city.  It  is  so  long  and  slender  that  people  who 
abide  here  pass  a  large  part  of  their  lives  in  getting 
up  and  down  town.  Take  the  hours  in  which  they 
are  so  engaged  out  of  their  existence,  and  they  would 
not  know  what  to  do  with  themselves.  Such  a  change 
would  be  like  extending  their  day  to  forty-eight  hours. 
But  getting  up  and  down  town,  like  everything  else, 
has  its  uses.  It  helps  to  kill  time,  (why  shouldn't  we 
kill,  when  we  can,  what  kills  all  of  us  at  last?)  and 
that  was  one  of  the  original  purposes  of  the  Metropolis. 
In  that.  New- York  has  been  a  complete  success.  A 
man,  and  of  necessity  a  woman,  can  employ  more  hours 
here  with  less  profit,  than  in  any  city  of  the  World, 
Paris  perhaps  excepted.  It  is  always  noon  in  New- 
York,  and  before  you  think  of  the  hour  again  it  is 
midnight.  So  one  can  get  through  with  his  life  very 
readily  while  wondering  how  he  has  wasted  it. 

To  prevent  Gothamites  from  being  surprised  at  their 
own  funerals  while  going  to  and  from  business,  with 
the  unimportant  consideration  of  making  large  fortunes 
by  swindling  and  incommoding  the  public,  street  rail- 
ways were  established.  They  were,  doubtless,  designed 
by  Providence  to  show  mortals  the  wickedness  of  hu- 


'  Stre  et  -Railways.  467 

man  ways,  and  to  plant  thorns  amid  the  roses  of  their 
pleasure.  But  for  the  railways  man  might  long  to 
linger  forever  in  Manhattan.  Compelled  to  patronize 
them,  however,  day  after  day,  he  sees  this  World  is 
hollow,  and  aspires  to  another  where  the  railways  are 
not.  Thus  (it  is  the  Pantheistic  belief  that  partial  evil 
is  universal  good)  the  railways  have  theologic  virtues 
and  enforce  upon  the  human  family  the  benison  of 
wretchedness  after  the  most  approved  orthodox  fash- 
ion. 

What  sybarites  and  epicureans  might  we  not  become, 
without  the  trials  and  sufferings  resulting  from  the 
railways!  Through  them  literally  and  metaphorically 
the  iron  enters  the  soul.  Beauty  and  bouquets,  love 
and  happiness  may  await  us  up  town.  But  remem- 
brance of  the  means  of  getting  there  spiritualizes  the 
senses,  abates  all  transports  of  the  blood.  It  is  the 
skeleton  at  the  feast,  the  hair  shirt  against  the  bound- 
ing heart,  the  sword  of  Damocles  above  the  luxurious 
board. 

The  Rubicon  of  the  rails  divides  us  from  our  hopes 
and  anticipations,  and  when  we  have  passed  it,  afflic- 
tion has  tempered  us  to  moderate  joys.  The  rails  are 
as  the  purgatory  through  which  we  must  wander  before 
ascending  to  the  blessings  of  paradise. 

It  is  a  common  error  to  suppose  our  street-railways 
were  made  for  New- York.  New-York  was  made  for 
them.  The  island  was  formed  by  nature  expressly  for 
their  construction,  as  a  glance  at  the  City  map  will 
instantly  show.  Without  them  people  might  get  home 
too  soon,  and  the  weekly  bills  of  mortality  would  be 
too  small.  Without  them  human  patience  and  strength, 
fortitude  and  agility,  would  be  less  valued  because  less 


468  The  Great  Metropolis. 

needed.  New-York  would  be  tlie  very  city  of  delights 
— a  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  perhaps — would  undergo  a 
revolution  of  agreeableness,  but  for  the  iron  bonds 
that  bind  us  to  a  cruel  doom  and  the  inexorable  destiny 
of  riding  on  the  cars. 

This  City  is  for  its  sins  accursed  with  at  least  twenty 
street-railways  in  the  worst  possible  condition,  running 
wherever  one  does  not  want  to  go,  through  the  most 
repulsive  quarters.  They  make  money  beyond  all 
proportion  to  their  investment;  the  public  patronizing 
them  liberally  because  the  roads  cheat  passengers  reg- 
ularly, and  are  opposed  on  principle  to  granting  any 
accommodation.  The  roads  have  no  rights  (those  of 
rendering  their  customers  as  uncomfortable  as  possible 
are  of  course  natural  and  inalienable)  that  vehicles  are 
bound  to  respect ;  and  every  vehicle  that  can  interfere 
with  the  progress  of  a  car  has  won  the  favor  of  fortune. 
The  commerce  of  the  Metropolis  is  opposed  to  the  rail- 
ways, and  does  everything  in  its  power  to  increase  their 
odiousness.  Every  possible  box  and  bale,  every  truck 
and  truckman  that  can  be  used  to  obstruct  the  roads 
is  brought  into  requisition. 

Wagons  bearing  huge  stones  and  ponderous  machin- 
ery lie  in  wait  for  cars,  and  break  down  across  the 
track.  Brick  piles  tumble  at  the  precise  hour  one 
selects  to  go  up  town,  and  cover  the  rails  with  impass- 
able debris.  Even  trees  blow  down,  and  old  women 
are  seized  with  fits,  and  fall  directly  across  the  iron- 
bound  way.  External,  no  less  than  human  nature, 
seems  in  league  against  the  roads ;  and  yet  the  passen- 
gers alone  are  the  sufferers.  Everybody  and  every- 
thing declare  the  railways  nuisances,  yet  they  endure 


Street-Railways.  469 

and  continue  in  the  face  of  all  opposition,  and  before 
the  serious  discountenance  of  the  deities  themselves. 

The  railways  are  all  close  corporations.  The  mana- 
gers and  stockholders  always  deny  their  profits.  They 
secretly  divide  15,  20  and  25  per  cent.,  and  beg  for 
new  privileges  to  sustain  themselves.  They  declare 
they  are  merely  anxious  to  accommodate  the  public, 
and  the  only  man  who  ever  was  accommodated  by 
them  died  the  next  moment  from  the  unexpectedness 
of  the  sensation. 

The  more  money  the  roads  make,  the  meaner  they 
get.  The  larger  their  dividend,  the  greater  their  cur- 
tailment of  the  starvation-salaries  of  the  drivers  and 
conductors.  They  complain  that  their  employes  rob 
them.  Why  should  they  not?  The  owners  plunder 
the  public;  why  deny  to  their  servants  the  same  priv- 
ilege? If  ever  men  were  justified  in  stealing,  the  dri- 
vers and  conductors  are.  Indeed,  I  am  not  sure  it  is 
not  a  virtue,  when  they  are  paid  forty  or  fifty  dollars 
a  month,  by  those  whose  income  is  half  as  much  an 
hour. 

If  the  employes  would  only  steal  the  roads  and  the 
right  of  way  at  the  same  time,  they  would  be  public 
benefactors.  We  should  honor  them  with  crow^ns,  and 
guarantee  them  against  the  prosecution  of  directors. 

The  wonderful  creature  who  renders  street-railways 
impossible  shall  have  a  monument  in  Union  Square 
higher  than  Washington's,  and  be  represented  on  two 
horses.  What  is  the  father  of  his  country  compared 
to  the  mother  of  reform?  The  former  was  childless. 
The  offspring  of  the  latter  will  be  blessed  and  unnum- 
bered. 

Extinguish  the  street-railways,  root  and  branch,  and 


470  The  Great  Metropolis. 

steam-cars,  the  greatest  need  of  the  Metropolis,  will 
supply  their  place. 

The  traveler  in  the  cars  has  a  career  of  his  own. 
The  experience  is  peculiar  as  a  life  in  Japan.  One 
learns  cynicism  and  feels  suffocation  in  daily  rides,  so- 
called  for  courtesy,  through  the  sinuosities  and  odors 
of  the  filthiest  streets.  There  is  no  monotony,  some 
romance,  much  danger  and  more  disgust  in  the  cars. 

Certain  preparations  are  desirable,  however,  for  the 
performance.  The  regular  passenger  should  lose  his 
sense  of  smell;  have  the  capacity  to  shut  himself  up 
like  a  patent  umbrella;  be  able  to  hang  on  a  platform 
by  the  lids  of  his  eyes;  hold  drunken  men  and  fat 
women  on  his  lap,  eight  or  nine  at  a  time,  without  dis- 
satisfaction or  inconvenience  ;  put  weeping  and  scream- 
ing children  in  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and  deliver  them 
promptly  when  wanted ;  keep  his  temper  and  his  port- 
monnaie ;  be  skilled  as  a  pugilist  and  a  crack-shot  with 
a  revolver.  Those  are  the  essentials  for  anything  like 
resignation  in  the  cars.  The  desiderata  are  beyond 
enumeration.  But  the  best  thing  for  a  man  or  woman 
to  do,  who  deems  himself  or  herself  compelled  to  ride 
on  the  cars,  is  to  take  some  other  conveyance. 

A  volume  might  be  written  on  the  drolleries  and 
adventures  of  the  railway  victims.    He  who  has  ridden 
on  the  cars  for  a  few  years,  and  outlived  it,  is  as  inter- 
esting as  a  man  who  has  been  through  the  War,  oi 
thrice  married,  or  half  his  life  a  prisoner  with  the  In- 
dians.    He  bears  a  charmed  life.     He  could  jump  ovei 
Niagara  without  disarranging  his  hair;  or  walk  up  t( 
the  bridal  altar  without  trembling.     He  could  do  any- 
thing.    He  could  read  the  morning  papers  withoul 
falling  asleep. 


I 


Street-Railways.  471 

He  has  had  all  sorts  of  diseases,  from  the  acuta 
scabies  to  typhus  fever.  He  has  been  run  over  in  every 
part  of  his  body.  He  has  been  robbed  of  his  valua- 
bles so  often  that  conductors  believe  him  a  monoma- 
niac on  the  subject  of  pocket-picking.  He  has  been 
beaten  and  cut  and  shot  almost  everywhere  between 
his  head  and  heels  by  pleasant  gentlemen  who  insisted 
upon  confounding  his  watch  with  theirs,  and  who  held 
it  as  a  cardinal  article  of  faith  that  any  one  that  insisted 
on  keeping  his  own  property  deserved  killing  for  the 
first  offence,  and  to  be  a  City  Alderman  for  the  second. 

The  discomforts  and  perils  of  car-journeying  can 
hardly  be  over-estimated.  That  our  people  will  under- 
take it  merely  proves  the  national  recklessness.  Pru- 
dent persons  Jeave  their  purses  and  watches  in  the  safe 
deposit  company,  and  carry  bowie-knives  and  derrin- 
gers before  venturing  from  Barclay  to  Forty-second 
street.  I  am  often  lost  in  admiration  at  the  feats  of 
postering  and  corporal  convolution  I  witness  on  the 
cars,  and  wonder  why  people  will  pay  to  see  the  Arabs 
and  Japanese,  when  they  can  for  nothing  have  much 
more  of  that  exhibition  than  they  want. 

Think  of  a  corpulent  fellow  balancing  himself  on  a 
young  woman's  toes,  and  stealing  his  neighbor's  breast- 
pin without  changing  his  position !  Imagine  a  slender 
little  chap  holding  himself  over  the  end  of  the  car  by 
thrusting  his  head  between  the  conductor's  legs,  and 
gamins  in  the  street  pulling  his  boots  off,  unknown  to 
him,  while  the  car  goes  round  the  corner!  Fancy  a 
baby  sleeping  on  the  summit  of  a  drunken  man's  hat 
which  is  waltzing  over  the  top  of  the  vehicle  !  Picture 
a  clown  making  a  boot-jack  of  a  pretty  seamstress'  bon- 
net while  his  back  is  endeavoring  in  vain  to  accom- 


472  The  Great  Metropolis. 

modate  itself  to  the  digestion  of  that  timid  clerical- 
looking  person,  who  is  dozing  from  exhaustion,  and 
dreaming  his  stomach  has  been  made  the  foundation 
of  the  new  post-office,  already  complete.  Could  the 
gymnasts  of  the  other  hemisphere  do  anything  like 
that? 

How  true  it  is  that  we  never  appreciate  what  lies 
before  us !  The  marvels  of  street-railways  impress  us 
not.  Neither  their  tragedy  nor  their  comedy  touches 
us.  We  have  no  idea  what  we  endure,  or  what  we 
escape,  when  we  ride  up  or  down  town.  We  breathe 
an  atmosphere  of  poison,  and  do  not  die.  We  travel 
with  thieves  and  ruffians  and  murderers,  and  feel  no 
alarm.  We  seize  men  by  the  beard  or  nose,  and  hang 
there,  our  feet  resting  only  on  vicious  atmosphere, 
until  we  reach  Harlem  or  Yorkville ;  and  they  never 
murmur;  for  they  can't  surrender  the  luxuries  of  the 
cars. 

Who  says  the  days  of  miracles  have  passed  ? 

Our  street-railways  are  still  tolerated ;  and  New-York 
yet  remains  outside  of  a  lunatic  asylum — ^perhaps  be- 
cause it  is  a  paradise  of  fools. 


CHAPTER  LIII. 
THE    PAWNBROKERS. 

Love  of  money  is  the  root  of  all  evil,  according  to 
the  Scriptures  ;  but  in  these  modern  days,  want  of 
money  is  nearly  as  prolific  of  ill.  In  great  cities  where 
almost  everything  must  be  bought,  poverty  is  at  least 
one  parent  of  sin.  The  prosperous  are  rarely  tempted  ; 
have  little  excuse  for  crime.  But  to  those  whom  indi- 
gence presses,  the  way  to  wickedness  is  all  down  hill. 

In  vast  commercial  centers,  sin  is  only  another  name, 
usually,  for  ignorance  or  suffering.  Where  ease  and 
culture  are,  the  ghastliness  of  crime  is  rarely  seen. 
But  material  necessity  drives  men  headlong,  and  urges 
them  to  perdition  or  to  woe. 

These  truths  are  constantly  exemplified  at  the  pawn- 
brokers' offices,  the  sombre  half-way  houses  between 
wretchedness  and  death.  The  pawnbroker's  shop 
should  be  under  the  shadow  of  the  Morgue,  for  the 
distance  between  them  is  often  shudderingly  short. 
Pawnbrokers'  offices  are  plague  spots  upon  the  fair 
forms  of  cities.  They  show  deep-seated  if  not  in- 
curable disease.  They  are  the  symbols  of  suffering, 
the  representatives  of  misfortune  and  of  want.  They 
cannot  exist  in  entirely  healthful  atmospheres.     Like 


474  The  Great  Metropolis. 

certain  noxious  plants,  they  feed  on  the  poisons  of  the 
air. 

Pawnbrokers'  ofl&ces  are  bad  signs  for  cities.  Where 
they  are  most,  the  places  are  worst.  The  locality  that 
favors  them  is  sickly  and  stricken  with  grief  Dirt, 
and  over-crowding,  and  rum-selling,  and  prostitution, 
and  wretchedness  in  every  form,  are  fit  neighbors  for 
pawnbrokers'  shops ;  for  among,  and  out  of,  such  sur- 
roundings, the  three  golden  balls  gleam  dismally. 

Our  best  quarters  reveal  no  pawnbrokers.  They 
are  banished  from  the  light  of  content  and  of  comfort. 
They  creep  out  of  Broadway  even,  away  from  the 
pleasant  breathing-places,  into  the  regions  where  the 
air  is  foul,  and  the  houses  look  dark. 

The  east  side  of  the  town  abounds  in  them.  Chat- 
ham street  and  the  Bowery  are  devoted  to  them. 
There  are  several  hundreds,  probably,  in  the  whole 
City.  They  grow  with  its  growth,  of  poverty,  and 
strengthen  with  its  strength  of  misfortune.  They  may 
not  impress  others  as  they  do  me.  But  I  never  pass 
them  on  the  fairest  day,  that  the  sun  does  not  seem  a 
little  obscured,  and  the  freshest  breeze  touching  them 
has  the  sense  of  taint. 

Pawnbrokers  are  born ;  they  are  rarely  made.  Like 
corporations,  they  have  no  souls.  They  subsist  on 
adversity  as  vultures  on  carrion.  They  are  of  ill 
omen,  and  riot  in  ruin.  They  are  of  one  race,  gen- 
erally, and  look  like  cruel  brothers,  banded  together 
in  the  cause  of  avarice  against  humanity. 

The  phrenologists  are  fond  of  giving  typical  heads, 
calling  them  the  thinker,  the  observer,  the  bully,  the 
fool.  Why  don't  they  give  the  pawnbroker  ?  He  is 
distinctive.     He  is  a  human  type  of  inhumanity.     You 


The  Pawnbrokers.  475 

would  know  him  among  a  thousand  men.  His  eye  is 
keen,  but  cold  and  pitiless.  His  complexion  is  un- 
wholesome. His  atmosphere  repels  you.  His  beak  is 
prominent  and  sharp.  His  movements  are  stealthy. 
His  air  is  treacherous.  When  he  passes,  if  you  are 
sensitive,  you  shudder  without  seeing  him,  and  in- 
stinctively feel  for  your  pocket-book.  No  doubt  he 
has  a  heart  somewhere,  could  you  but  find  it ;  but  it 
is  not  in  his  business.  When  he  enters  his  shop,  he 
shuts  up  the  troublesome  organ,  locks  it,  and  hangs 
the  key  out  of  reach. 

"  Come  hither,  ye  that  are  needy,"  he  says,  "  and  if 
ye  have  aught,  it  shall  be  taken  from  you." 

I  presume  he  reasons  himself  into  a  certain  stern 
justice  of  his  calling.  Perhaps  he  says  to  himself:  "  I 
am  hard ;  but  the  World  is  hard  also.  I  am  pitiless, 
but  destiny  is  pitiless.  I  must  live.  I  am  against  my 
kind ;  but  my  kind  is  against  me.  Am  I  not  wise  to 
steel  myself  against  my  fellows,  who  would  cheat  me 
if  they  could?" 

The  pawnbroker  offends  not  the  law- — the  law  that 
legislators  make.  Neither  does  the  smooth  destroyer 
of  human  happiness,  the  quiet  treader  upon  tender 
hearts.  Alas,  that  the  deepest  crimes  are  those  the 
law  cannot  reach ! 

Pawnbrokers'  offices  are  different  in  seeming,  though 
their  dealings  are  all  alike.  They  show  the  close  con- 
nection between  moral  and  material  purity.  They  are 
generally  dismal  and  unclean.  They  are  musty,  and 
savor  of  foulness.  Dust  and  grime  are  upon  them. 
They  reek  with  unwelcome  odors.  But  sometimes 
they  affect  cheerfulness  and  pleasantness.  They  put 
flowers  on  their  counters,  and  birds  against  their  walls. 


476  The  Great  Metropolis. 

But  they  are  the  wreaths  on  tombs.  The  flowers  have 
little  fragrance ;  the  birds  will  hardly  sing.  Nature 
has  her  own  secrets,  and  she  cannot  deceive. 

Look  into  yonder  shop  !  A  fleet  of  all  wares  seems 
to  have  stranded  within  its  walls.  What  old  jewelry 
and  old  clothes  establishments  have  emptied  themselves 
there!  What  glitter,  and  gewgaws,  and  rubbish! 
What  odds  and  ends  of  civilized  forms  are  these ! 
Has  the  Nile  of  creation  overflowed,  and  left  these 
dShrts  upon  its  banks  ?  One  wonders  so  small  a  place 
can  hold  such  variety.  Here  are  watches  of  every 
pattern  and  value,  from  the  elegant  and  modern  chro- 
nometer, to  the  queer,  old-fashioned  time-piece  George 
the  First  might  have  carried ;  from  the  dainty,  enam- 
eled trinket  .that  may  very  naturally  have  forgotten  to 
reckon  time  in  some  sweet  woman's  bosom,  to  the 
pewter  monster  created  to  deceive.  Here  are  dia- 
monds, and  rubies,  and  pearls,  and  emeralds  in  gold 
forms,  that  our  great-grandmothers  wore,  and  in  gold 
fresh  and  bright  as  from  Broadway  cases. 

Weapons  of  divers  sorts  are  in  the  place,  as  if  the 
broker  had  gone  with  a  search-warrant  for  arms,  over 
all  the  World.  Guns,  and  pistols,  and  knives,  and 
swords,  and  daggers.  Curiously  wrought,  some  of 
them  ;  such  as  I  seem  to  have  seen  in  Sicily,  Smyrna, 
India  and  Arabia.  A  Colt's  revolver  lies  against  a 
Revolutionary  musket.  A  Spanish  stiletto  supports 
itself  upon  an  American  bowie-knife.  A  delicate 
poniard  hangs  from  the  same  nail  with  a  Scotch  broad- 
sword. 

What  a  heap  of  clothing,  too !  The  remnant  of 
Life's  masquerade  might  have  ended  here.  The  last 
revelers  must  have  been  frightened,   slipped  out  of 


The  Pawnbrokers.  477 

their  costumes,  and  fled.  The  fashions  of  centuries 
seem  represented.  Gowns  that  the  duchess  of  Ports- 
mouth might  have  w^orn  for  profligate  Charles'  admi- 
ration, or  Maintenon  asked  Louis  to  approve,  or  Agnes 
Sorrel  put  on  to  find  new  favor  with  her  royal  lover. 
That  resembles  the  dress  the  handsome  English  woman 
danced  in  that  memorable  evening  at  Brighton,  and 
ran  away  in,  perhaps,  the  next  morning,  with  her 
lover,  her  husband's  best  friend.  This  delicate,  but 
now^  soiled  pearl-colored  silk,  I  imagine  I  waltzed  with 
last  season,  at  the  Academy,  in  a  space  five  feet  square. 
But  I  dare  say  I  am  at  fault.  My  imagination  deceives 
me  as  it  did  about  the  w^earer.  She  was  a  darling 
while  I  flattered  her ;  but  a  devil  when  I  told  her  the 
truth. 

We  wear  the  invisible  cap,  you  know.  You  and  I 
will  stand  aside,  reader,  and  see  who  patronizes  the 
broker.  Our  Hebrew  friend  is  engaged  in  filing  a 
gold  coin,  and  won't  perceive  us,  so  intent  is  he  upon 
his  little  fraud. 

No  grief  in  this  showy,  coarse  woman's  face  as  she 
enters.  She  is  gaily  and  expensively  attired.  She  is 
painted  like  a  new  sign-board,  and  redolent  of  musk. 
Her  voice  is  unpleasant,  and  her  syntax  blunders. 

"  What'll  you  lend  me  on  this  'ere?  (She  offers  a 
large  gold  miniature,  with,  a  sad,  feminine  face  that 
looks  older  from  trouble  than  years.)  You  see  it's 
purty." 

''Yell,  madam,  ve  can't  shell  dese  tings.  Osher 
beeble's  picshers  ishn't  vorsh  much  vid  us.  Only 
goot  for  ole  golt,  dat  ish  all,  madam,  I  pledges  you 
mine  vort  of  honor.  I  geeve  you  fife  tollars — dash 
ish  more  dan  it  ish  vorsh,  I  shvear." 


478  Thi!]  Cheat  Metropolis. 

''  0  well,  take  it  along.  I  don't  want  it.  It  makes 
me  feel  onpleasant  whenever  I  look  at  it." 

She  delivers  the  miniature,  receives  the  money,  and 
trips  out. 

"Dat  ish  a  goot  bargain,"  chuckles  Mr.  Abrahams. 
"  I  knows  dem  kind  of  vimmen.  Dey'll  take  any  shin  g. 
I  can  git  twenty-five  dollars  for  dis  any  time  I  vant. 
I  hope  I  ave  more  cushtomers  like  her." 

The  miniature  has  a  history,  as  almost  everything 
else  has  in  a  pawnbroker's  collection.  It  belonged  to 
a  poor  seamstress  who  came  to  the  City  from  New- Jer- 
sey, and  with  whom  fortune  went  ill.  She  was  thi^own 
out  of  employment ;  was  almost  starving ;  Avas  driven 
to  prostitution.  For  two  years  she  led  a  life  she  hourly 
revolted  at.  She  fell  sick  of  iTrain  fever.  Before  a 
week  was  over,  the  proprietress  of  the  house  in  which 
she  sold  herself — the  coarse  woman  that  has  just  de- 
parted— demanded  payment  of  the  girl's  board. — 
Money  the  girl  had  not,  nor  a  friend  in  the  whole  City. 
The  hard  woman  searched  her  trunk ;  found  the  min- 
iature of  the  poor  child's  mother,  and  seized  it  for 
debt.  Edith  pleaded  hard  for  that ;  but  she  pleaded 
to  marble.  Forsaken,  wretched,  desperate,  consumed 
with  fever,  mad  with  sufferings  of  body  and  mind,  she 
went  out  that  very  night ;  begged  money  enough  to 
buy  laudanum,  and  was  found  dead  in  the  morning. 
Old  as  the  story  is,  it  were  blessing  if  age  could  rob 
it  of  its  horror.  .ji 

This  sleek-looking  person  puffs  his  cigar  calmly  as™ 
he  draws  a  fine  watch  and  chain  from  his  pocket,  and     ■ 
lays  them  silently  on  the  counter.      "Feefty  dollar," 
hesitatingly  utters  Mr.  Abrahams. 

"0  you  be  d — ■ — d!     Give  me  a  hundred,  and  you 
shall  have  it." 


The  Pawnbroker.  479 

"Yell,  I'll  shust  tell  you,  Misther  Munroe.  Dis 
vatch " 

^'  0  dry  up,  you  old  Jew  !  Give  me  the  money  or 
the  watch ! " 

"You'se  a  sharp  shentleman;"  and  the  Israelite 
tries  to  laugh,  as  he  hands  over  a  hundred  dollar  note. 

"Sharp,  you  old  scoundrel?  The  watch  is  w^orth 
three  times  this.  I'll  redeem  it  to-morrow.  But  I 
had  a  bad  run  at  faro  last  night.  Better  luck  to- 
night." 

Soliloquizing  he  departs. 

T\e  watch  belonged  to  a  merchant  in  West  Broad- 
way. His  son  has  been  gambling  lately;  and  his  fa- 
ther refusing  to  give  him  money,  ,the  young  scape- 
grace carries  off  the  paternal  chronometer;  places  it 
before  the  hungry  tiger,  and  the  tiger  devours  it  at  a 
mouthful. 

A  low,  square  forehead  thrusts  itself  into  the  door- 
way. A  bad  eye  darts  into  the  shop,  and  then  up  the 
street  and  down  and  across.  Then  a  heavy  form  with 
a  light  step  advances  warily. 

"Somethin'  han'some  this  mornin'  Abrahams.  Good 
for  sore  eyes,  old  cully." 

"Come  dish  way,"  and  the  broker  beckons  the  bru- 
tal-looking man  into  a  little  room  in  the  rear. 

A  conversation  in  a  low  tone ;  and  in  a  few  moments 
the  cautious  animal  creeps  out;  again  darts  his  eye 
up  and  down  and  across  the  street,  and  hurriedly  dis- 
appears. 

The  broker  returns  to  the  shop,  his  eyes  dancing 
over  a  pair  of  bracelets  that  kindle  in  the  light.  In 
his  gladness  he  knocks  down  a  musket  in  the  corner.  He 
starts  in  terror ;  conceals  his  treasure,  and  tries  to  look 


480  The  Great  Metropolis. 

bland  and  innocent,  which  makes  him  seem  twice  a 
villain.  ^ 

The  bracelets  were  stolen  two  nights  before  by  the 
burglar  who  brought  them  there,  from  a  house  in  Twen- 
ty-third street,  where  the  inmates  sleep  sound,  and  leave 
their  keys  in  the  doors. 

Mr.  Abrahams  has  a  number  of  such  customers,  but 
he  does  not  keep  what  they  leave  with  him  in  pledge ; 
for  he  fears  the  police  may  be  looking  for  the  stolen 
wares,  and  knows  that  they  will  never  be  redeemed. 

Pale  and  sad  is  she  who  comes  so  timidly  in.  She 
looks  the  picture  of  pity.  Any  lineament  of  he¥  face 
would  melt  any  heart  but  a  pawnbroker's.  Lamartine 
would  write  a  poem  to  it ;  and  an  unsentimental  Amer- 
ican would  give  it  five  dollars.  She  trembles,  and  is 
so  nervous  she  cannot  speak  while  she  draws  from 
her  bosom  a  little  gold  cross  and  chain.  She  turns 
partially,  and  kisses  them  ere  she  delivers  them  to  his 
unholy  hands.  She  puts  her  delicate  hand  to  her 
slender  chest,  and  coughs  hollowly.  Her  lips  move, 
but  no  audible  sound  escapes. 

"Yas  ish  it,  mish?     I  cannot  hear  you." 

She  summons  courage  and  strength,  and  says,  "My 
mother  is  dying,  sir.  We  have  no  money  in  the  house. 
I  can't  even  buy  medicine  for  her.  Give  me  some- 
thing for  the  little  cross.  But  keep  it,  please.  It  is 
very  precious  to  me.  I'll  redeem  it  when  my  poor 
mother  is  dead ;  for  then  I  can  work  again." 

Tears  choke  her,  and,  putting  her  head  in  her  hands, 
she  sobs  bitterly. 

''Your  mutter  is  dyin' ;  oh,  yes;  mutters  die  like 
everybody  elsh.  But  is  it  sholid  gold,  mish?  I  give 
two  tollars." 


TiiE  Pawnbrokers.  481 

''Two  dollars?"  eaid  the  weeping  girl  looks  up.  "It 
cost  $30." 

*  "But  den  you  see  prishes  has  gone  up  so  dese  tings 
isn't  worsh  so  much  as  dey  vas.  Two  tollar  is  de  full 
value.     Nopoddy  would  geeve  more." 

"I  thought  you  would  give  me  at  least  $10.  But  I 
must  take  what  I  can  get.  Do  not  detain  me,  please. 
There's  nobody  but  a  little  girl  who  lives  dow^n  stairs 
with  mother." 

"Dere  ish  two  tollar.  I  would  not  geeve  so  mooch. 
But  w^e  musht  be  sharitable  to  de  poor.  De  Hebrews 
always  ish." 

The  girl  was  gone  without  hearing  this  richly-de- 
served eulogium  upon  the  remnant  of  the  Lost  Tribes. 

Such  are  but  a  few  of  the  scenes  that  daily  occur  at 
the  pawnbroker's.  He  is  patronized  by  gamblers, 
courtesans,  adventuresses,  thieves,  and  men-about-town. 
If  they  were  his  only  customers,  it  would  be  well.  But 
the  honest  poor,  the  suffering  needy,  the  unfor- 
tunate, the  outcast,  the  miserable  waifs  floating  be- 
tween despair  and  suicide,  are  taken  in  his  cruel  net. 
They  all  pay  tribute  to  his  avarice.  Every  fresh  call 
makes  them  wretcheder  and  more  dependent.  The 
small  "advances"  they  get  are  wrung  out  of  their 
blood  and  being.  Each  loan,  is  a  new  fetter  and  an- 
other stab.  The  pawnbroker  covers  them — with  a 
shroud — and  helps  them — to  a  pauper's  grave.  They 
never  reach  him  until  friends  and  fortune  have  deserted 
them.  When  they  knock  at  his  door  hope  has  almost 
gone  out  of  their  heart.  The  three  balls  represent 
poverty,  misery,  abandonment.  When  their  shadow 
has  fallen  often  upon  the  needy  it  is  rarely  lifted. 

The  shade  of  the  pawnbroker's  shop  is  baleful  as 


482  The  Great  Metropolis. 

that  of  the  fabled  Upas.  Content  quits  the  borrower 
at  the  threshold,  and  adversity  and  woe  bring  him 
back.  Dissipation  and  idleness  frequently  lead  to  it ; 
but  they  who  are  victims  of  one  or  the  other,  are  not 
less  to  be  pitied  because  their  temperament  binds  them 
to  their  courses.  Struggle  as  we  may,  organization 
and  circumstance  are  the  genii  that  control  our  lives. 

Every  pledge  has  its  secret  history.     A  tender  and 
tearful  idyl  is  hidden  in  that  necklace ;  a  strange  ro- 
mance is  locked  up  in  this  casket;  a  tragedy  of  life 
and  love  is  in  the  well-worn  cashmere  shawl.     The 
pistol  ticketed  415  made  a  death  that  startled  the  com- 
munity.    The  musket  in  the  corner  killed  Albert  Sid- 
ney Johnson  at  Shiloh.      The  carbine  wreathed  with 
cobwebs  made   the  fatal  wound  of  Stonewall  Jackson, 
and  blew  perhaps  a  whole  year  out  of  the  War.     The 
locket  with  the  golden  hair  nestling  in  it  like  a  sun- 
beam might  tell  a  tale  so  sad  that  to  hear  it  would  be 
to  weep.     The  cameo  pin  was  worn  on  a  pagan  bosom 
that  stilled  its  pangs  of  passion  with  poisoned  wine. 
The  garnet  ring  was  worn  by  one  of  whom  the  World  I 
has  heard.     It  passed  from  him  to  a  leman's  finger,  and 
now  burns  for  the  unforgotten  shame  of  a  deserted  wife 
and  a  base  intrigue. 

The  prose  and  poetry,  the  sin  and  suffering,  the  ro- 
mance and  reality,  the  comedy  and  tragedy  of  life  are 
strangely  blended  at  the  pawnbroker's;  and  he  who 
could  unravel  all  the  strange  facts  from  the  heteroge-  ' 
neous  mass  could  give  new  plots  to  new  Cinthios,  and 
wonderful  narratives  for  Bocaccios  yet  unconceived. 


CHAPTER   LIY. 
CHILDREN'S    AID     SOCIETY. 

What  is  at  present  known  as  the  Children's  Aid  So- 
ciety is  one  of  the  most  valuable  and  deserving  among 
the  many  charities  of  the  Metropolis. 

A  prominent  feature  of  the  society  is  the  newsboys' 
lodging-house,  for  many  years  in  Fulton  street,  near 
Nassau,  but  recently  removed  to  49  and  51  Park  place. 
The  house  was  established  in  1854,  by  the  Rev.  Charles 
L.  Brace,  who  had  been  pained  to  observe  the  little 
vagabonds  sleeping  in  boxes,  stairways,  and  coalholes, 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  newspaper  offices.  He  called 
the  subject  to  the  attention  of  a  number  of  benevo- 
lent persons ;  and  the  first  means  to  defray  the  expens- 
es of  the  enterprise  were  raised  in  the  Rev.  Theodore 
Cuyler's  church.  The  earliest  difficulty  in  the  way 
was  to  obtain  a  place  for  the  newsboys,  who  were  not 
then  any  more  than  they  are  now,  a  very  inviting 
class  to  those  whose  sympathies  are  wholly  of  an  aes- 
thetic character.  Yarious  localities  were  found ;  but 
no  one  would  have  the  soiled  and  sinful  urchins  on 
his  premises. 

At  last,  Moses  Y.  Beach,  of  the  old  Sim,  offered  the 
loft  of  his  building  for  the  purpose,  and  said  the  boys 
should  be  kept  there  if  every  tenant  left.  The  quar- 
ters were  not  pleasant  by  any  means.     They  were  fes- 


484  The  Great  Metropolis. 

tooned  witli  cobwebs  and  frescoed  with  dirt ;  but  soap 
and  water,  whitewash  and  paint,  soon  rendered  them 
habitable,  and  even  respectable. 

Accommodations  for  75  or  80  lodgers  were  prepared ; 
notice  given  in  the  daily  papers,  and  the  leaders  of 
the  boys  informed  of  the  fact.  For  a  short  time  the 
superintendent  had  considerable  trouble  with  some  of 
the  little  wanderers ;  but  discipline  and  order  were 
soon  secured.  The  boys  could  not  understand  what 
all  this  care  for  them  meant.  They  were  naturally 
suspicious ;  thought  it  was  a  prelude  and  disguise  to 
some  kind  of  house  of  refuge :  they  even  termed  it 
a  Sundty  school  trap ;  but  they  were  so  kindly  treated 
and  given  so  much  freedom,  that  they  finally  concluded 
the  intention  was  to  benefit  them. 

Gambling  and  useless  spending  of.  money  were  the 
most  grievous  faults  of  the  lodgers.  Some  of  them 
earned  $4  or  $5,  and  others  only  75  cents  to  $1  a  day ; 
but  all  their  earnings,  whether  great  or  small,  went  for 
the  theater,  cards,  dice,  betting  and  lottery  tickets ; 
while  they  remained  ragged  and  needy  as  ever.  To 
counteract  such  follies,  checkers,  backgammon^  and 
dominoes  were  introduced  with  excellent  effect;  and  a, 
bank  was  also  established. 

The  bank  is  a  table  with  a  drawer,  divided  into  sepa- 
rate compartments,  with  a  slit  in  the  lid, — each  com- 
partment being  numbered  and  reserved  for  a  different^ 
depositor.     Into  the  little  boxes  the  boys  put  their  f 
money;  and  at  the  end  of  a  month,  it  is  returned  to  J 
them,  to  do  what  they  choose  with  it.     They  are  gene-'f 
rally  surprised  to  find  how  much  they  have  saved,  and 
either  buy  clothes  or  place  their  money  in  a  regular   ■ 
savings  bank.     The  custom  cures  most  of  them  of  ex-   < 


Childrexs'  Aid  Society.  485 

travagance.  They  are  paid  five  per  cent,  interest  per 
month|  and  premiums  are  given  to  the  lads  who  save 
the  most.  They  save  $200  to  $250  a  year,  independent 
of  what  they  deposit  and  invest  for  their  own  benefit. 

The  present  house  is  a  vast  improvement  o  n  theold 
one.  It  is  a  handsome  building ;  three  floors  are  used  ; 
and  the  rent  is  $4,500  per  annum.  It  has  large,  airy 
dormitories,  bath-rooms,  gymnasium,  school-room,  and 
chapel, — $8,000  or  $10,000  having  been  expended 
in  fitting  up  the  building.  The  directors  hope  soon 
to  erect  a  house  of  their  own  in  the  Bowery ;  and 
probably  they  will  have  the  necessary  means  before  an- 
other year. 

The  house  now  has  accommodations  for  260  boys. 
They  pay  five  cents  for  their  bed  and  five  cents  for 
their  meals, — a  small  payment  rendering  them  inde- 
pendent, and  exercising  a  good  influence  that  would 
not  exist  if  they  were  treated  as  paupers.  If  the 
little  fellows  have  no  means,  they  are  provided  with 
food  and  shelter  just  the  same,  and  make  payment 
when  they  can.  Those  who  are  able  rarely  fail  to 
meet  their  obligations ;  and  the  training  they  receive 
inspires  them  with  a  sense  of  honesty  and  honor. 

Since  the  establishment  of  the  house,  over  300,000 
lodgings,  have  been  supplied  to  homeless  boys  ;  and  it 
is  estimated  that  40,000  different  lads  have  been  the 
recipients  of  the  charity.  .  The  lodgers  have  contribu- 
ted nearly  $3,000  a  year  to  the  support  of  the  institu- 
tion, and  the  receipts  from  that  source  are  constantlv 
and  steadily  increasing. 

The  house  is  not  a  home,  as  many  suppose.  It  is 
the  special  design  of  the  directors  that  it  shall  not  be. 
If  it  were,  the  lodgers  would  lose  their  self-reliance 
and  ambition. 


486  The  Great  Metropolis. 

Emigration  is  one  of  the  peculiar  and  best  features 
of  the  house.  The  lodgers  are  sent  to  the  coiintry, 
and  there  provided  with  homes.  They  are  shipped  in 
companies,  and  at  very  considerable  expense,  to  all 
parts  of  the  country,  but  mostly  to  the  West.  A  single 
company,  which  varies  from  15  to  100,  sometimes 
costs  $1,000.  During  the  past  year,  1,381  boys  emi- 
grated; and  473  girls,  38  men,  and  51  women,  from 
other  charitable  institutions  in  the  City, — making  a 
total  of  1,943.  The  expenditure  of  this  house  for  the 
year  was  $9,916.31,  deducting  $3,177.69  paid  by  the 
boys. 

The  effect  of  the  society  is  shown  in  the  decrease  of 
street- vagrants  and  wanderers  from  40,000  in  former 
years  to  15,000  to  20,000  at  present.  Of  the  whole 
number  for  the  year,  147  were  restored  to  their  friends. 

The  Girls'  Lodging-house,  No.  205  Canal  street,  is  not 
designed  for  the  fallen  or  for  mature  women,  but  for 
young  persons  exclusively  who  have  not  been  tempted 
into  the  one  sin  society  is  so  loth  to  forgive  in  the 
other  sex,  and  so  prompt  to  pardon,  as  if  a  glory,  in  ours. 
The  superintendent's  orders  are  not  to  admit  girls 
over  18,  unless  in  cases  of  emergency  or  evident  suffer- 
ing. The  house  has  been  sorely  in  need  of  funds;  but 
what  means  it  has  had  it  has  expended  judiciously.  It 
is  economically  and  plainly  conducted;  but  it  is  an 
improvement  on  what  the  poor  girls  have  been  accus- 
tomed to.  During  eight  and  a  half  months,  nearly 
1,000  girls  were  lodged.  During  the  past  year,  l,079j 
were  lodged,  and  10,216  lodgings  given,  of  which 
3,400  were  paid;  29,761  meals  furnished,  and  6,805 
paid.  Of  the  number,  158  girls  obtained  situations; 
19   found  employment;    44  returned  to  friends;  49 


i 


The  Children's  Aid  Society.  487 

went  to  other  institutions;  50  went  West,  and  one  to 
Europe. 

The  receipts  during  the  year  were  $1,380.36,  and 
the  expenditures  three  times  as  much.  Many  of  the 
inmates  are  girls  from  the  country,  who  come  to  the 
City  with  the  hope  of  improving  their  condition,  or 
tempted  by  what  they  conceive  to  be  its  attractions- 
Some  are  driven  from  their  homes  by  the  unhappiness 
they  experience  there,  and  others  by  a  spirit  of  des- 
peration. 

Girls  who  go  there  without  money  can  pay  for  their 
board  by  work.  They  perform  the  household  duties,  and 
some  of  them  learn  to  sew  excellently.  The  discipline 
is  very  light,  and  little  is  required.  They  can  leave 
the  house  when  they  like;  but  few,  unless  they  run 
away,  depart  until  they  have  procured  good  situations. 
They  have  pleasant  social  gatherings  and  evening  par- 
ties, when  they  talk,  read,  and  have  quiet  games.  It 
not  unfrequently  happens  that  girls  who  have  been 
betrayed  into  unchastity  are  reformed  at  the  house. 
When  quite  young,  repentant,  and  anxious  to  lead  a 
better  life,  much  success  has  been  had  with  them. 

The  Refuge  for  Homeless  Children,  corner  of  Eighth 
avenue  and  Twenty-fourth  street,  is  another  lodging- 
house  for  boys.  This  charity  is  maintained  at  very 
small  cost,  the  rent  being  more  than  met  by  sub-letting. 
The  net  cost  of  last  year,  with  an  average  of  65  boys 
to  feed  and  lodge  at  night,  was  only  $1,075  to  the  pub- 
lic. The  total  expenses  for  that  time  was  $5,141.68. 
Eight  hundred  and  ninety-seven  were  received,  of 
whom  11  were  sent  West;  18  obtained  situations;  36 
were  restored  to  friends ;  85  sent  to  friends;  9  to  other 
institutions.     The  number  of  lodgings  furnished  was 


488  The  Great  METRoroLis. 

23,933,  of  which  but  933  were  free.  The  meals  sup- 
plied were  39,401,  and  3,655  of  them  free. 

Another  boys'  lodging-house,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
homeless  boys  of  the  Eleventh  ward,  is  doing  a  good 
work.  It  furnished  during  the  past  year  11,583 
lodgings,  and  12,810  meals,  at  the  usual  price,  5  cents 
each,  and  collected  $1,175.54.  It  lodged  during  the 
year  635  boys. 

Other  lodging-houses  are  open  for  homeless  boys,  in 
First  avenue,  and  at  Corlear's  Hook ;  and  twenty  in- 
dustrial schools,  with  four  night  schools  and  four  free 
reading-rooms,  are  included  in  the  Aid  Society.  The 
schools  have  47  teachers,  and  the  children  in  attend- 
ance, nearly  all  of  them  little  girls,  numbered  in  the 
aggregate  last  year  almost  6,000.  The  average  attend- 
ance was  more  than  2,000.  One  school.  No  110  Cen- 
tre street,  exclusively  for  Italian  children,  contains 
about  200.  Another,  solely  for  Germans,  No  272 
Second  street,  has  some  400  in  attendance.  Still  an- 
other for  colored  children.  No.  185  Spring  street,  has 
nearly.  100.  A  new  school,  lodging-house  and  free 
reading-room,  opened  last  year,  at  No.  327  Rivington 
street,  has  some  ninety  children,  and  the  lodging-house 
nightly  shelters,  on  an  average,  eighty  homeless  boys. 
Some  of  the  best  women  of  the  City  voluntarily  and 
gladly  devote  themselves  to  the  industrial  schools. 
They  feed  the  hungry,  clothe  the  naked,  and  enlighten 
the  ignorant.  Many  of  the  little  outcasts  are  unfit  to 
be  seen  until  they  are  supplied  with  garments. 

The  expenses  of  the  Aid  Society  last  year  were 
about  $115,000,  and  for  fifteen  years  $510,243.35. 
The  number  of  children  who  have  emisrated  was  207 
in  1854,  and  last  year  1,943, — a  steady  increase  each 


The  Children's  Aid  Society.  489 

year,  and  swelling  in  the  whole  fifteen  years  to  14,879, 
nearly  nine-tenths  of  whom  may  be  said  to  have  been 
literally  saved. 

The  inner  history  of  the  Society  would  read  like  a 
romance,  and  prove  conclusively  the  extent  and  solid- 
ity of  its  benefits.  Dozens  of  men  and  women,  now 
well  educated,  in  prosperous  circumstances  and  hon- 
ored members  of  society,  were  not  many  years  since, 
little  outcasts  and  wanderers,  and  would  have  come 
to  a  bad  end  but  for  the  protecting  arms  of  the  Aid 
Society. 

In  1856,  a  boy  of  sixteen  lost  his  parents  through 
excessive  intemperance,  and,  throwm  upon  the  street, 
he  began  to  sell  newspapers  for  a  livelihood.  He  Avas 
intelligent,  energetic  and  persevering;  but  he  had  in- 
herited a  love  for  liquor  that  he  could  not  resist.  He 
squandered  his  money;  was  a  drunkard  in  a  few 
months,  and  would  have  died  in  the  gutter  but  for  the 
influence  of  the  Society.  Some  of  the  benevolent 
persons  belonging  to  that  organization  saw  him  one 
night  when  he  entered  the  lodging-house  intoxicated ; 
cared  for  him  kindly,  and  the  next  morning,  when  he 
w^as  sober,  talked  to  him  earnestly  and  tenderly,  paint- 
ing what  would  be  his  future  unless  he  reformed.  He 
said  he  could  not  stop  drinking ;  that  he  had  tried  in 
vain.  They  urged  him  to  abstain  for  a  week,  at  the 
end  of  that  time,  to  make  it  a  fortnight,  and  then  a 
month. 

The  experiment  was  entirely  successful.  He  did 
not  drink  a  drop  of  spirituous  liquor  for  six  months, 
and  has  not  from  that  day  to  this.  He  was  placed  in 
a  large  mercantile  establishment  as  a  messenger.  He 
was  quick-witted,    trustworthy,   truthful,   industrious. 


490  The  Great  Metropolis. 

He  lost  no  opportunity  of  learning.  He  attended  the 
night-schools,  and  at  the  end  of  the  second  year  was 
made  assistant  book-keeper.  He  was  again  advanced 
and  his  salary  fixed  at  $2,500.  An  opportunity  for  a 
good  business  interest  occurred  in  the  West,  and  the 
senior  member  of  the  New-York,  firm  lent  him  the 
money  to  put  into  the  concern.  He  became  a  partner; 
is  there  now;  happily  married;  worth  $30,000,  with 
years  of  usefulness  before  him.  His  example  is  one  of 
many. 

Eeligious  exercises  and  instructions  are  given  in  all 
the  houses  and  schools.  An  effort  is  made  to  prevent 
the  boys  from  continuing  long  as  newspaper-sellers, 
boot-blacks,  rag-pickers,  messengers,  or  peddlers,  as 
the  continuance  of  such  callings  is  found  to  be  perni- 
cious. A  good  home  in  the  country  is  the  best  place 
for  the  children ;  and  the  Aid  Society  is  doing  such 
a  noble  and  excellent  work  in  that  way,  as  few  persons 
who  have  not  examined  into  its  system  and  operations 
can  believe.  All  who  visit  the  institutions  approve 
and  applaud  the  charity,  which,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  will 
be  enlarged  and  perfected  more  and  more  as  the  City 
grows  and  the  years  go  on. 


CHAPTER  LY. 
JAMES    GORDON     BENNETT. 

James  Gordon  Bennett,  the  journalist,  is  known  on 
both  sides  of  the  Atlantic ;  James  Gordon  Bennett,  the 
man,  is  hardly  known  outside  of  the  Herald  office.  In- 
deed, persons  who  have  been  employed  in  that  estab- 
lishment for  years  have  never  set  eyes  on  its  famous 
editor  and  proprietor.  All  his  power,  reputation  and 
influence  exist  in  and  through  the  Herald.  In  it,  he  is 
every  thing ;  out  of  it,  nothing. 

Probably  the  history  of  journalism  in  this  or  any 
other  country  does  not  show  another  instance  of  such 
complete  absorption  by,  and  identification  with,  a  news- 
paper as  that  of  Bennett  and  the  Herald.  To  the  Her- 
ald he  has  devoted  most  of  his  mature  life — his  best, 
and  ripest,  and  richest  years.  All  that  he  is  and  has 
been  he  has  poured,  with  mental  and  physical  prodigal- 
ity, into  the  great  newspaper  which  bears  his  name,  and 
has  yielded  him  a  vast  fortune  for  his  purpose  and  his 
pains. 

Bennett  was  born  of  Catholic  parents,  in  1797,  in 
Banffshire,  Scotland,  and  remained  at  school  there  until 
he  was  fourteen  or  fifteen.  He  was  then  sent  to  a  Cath- 
oHc  academy  at  Aberdeen,  with  the  view  of  taking  sa- 
cerdotal orders  ;  but  after  staying  there  for  two  or  three 
years,  during  which  time  he  devoted  himself  assiduously 


492  The   Great   Metropolis. 

to  hLs  books,  he  became  dissatisfied,  and  resolved  to 
surrender  all  priestly  aspirations.  His  parents,  said  to 
be  wealthy  and  influential,  had  set  their  hearts  upon  his 
leading  a  clerical  life,  and  Avere  so  much  opposed  to  his 
abandoning  it  that  a  rupture  ensued  between  them  and 
their  boy,  and  he  quitted  his  native  land  forever. 

Young  Bennett,  in  1819,  w^ith  a  companion  of 
about  his  own  age,  embarked  on  a  vessel  coming  to 
America,  and  arriving  at  Halifax,  without  money  or 
friends,  took  to  teaching  for  a  livelihood.  He  did  not 
succeed  to  his  satisfaction,  and  in  a  few  months  went 
to  Portland,  Me.,  and  then  to  Boston,  where  he  found 
employment  as  a  proof-reader  in  AYells  &  Lily's  publish- 
ing house.  At  that  time  he  was  much  addicted  to  soli- 
tary rambles  and  the  exercise  of  his  imagination.  He 
wrote  a  number  of  poems  of  rather  a  cynical,  semi- 
sentimental  kind,  suggested  by  his  lonely  walks  in  and 
about  the  metropolis  of  New-England. 

In  1822  he  came  to  New-York  and  engaged  himself 
to  some  of  the  daily  and  weekly  papers  as  a  reporter 
and  general  writer.  But  wearying  of  his  journalistic 
connections,  he  went  to  Charleston,  S.  C,  where  he  was 
employed  by  the  Courier  as  a  translator  of  French  and 
Spanish,  occasionally  contributing  sketches  and  poems 
to  the  paper.  In  his  early  years  he  was  singularly  rest- 
less, though  very  industrious  and  of  remarkable  versa- 
tility in  composition.  After  a  year  or  two  he  returned  to 
New-York,  where  he  undertook  to  set  up  a  commercial 
school,  but  either  failed  or  abandoned  his  design.  lie 
next  turned  his  attention  to  political  economy,  and  de- 
livered a  series  of  lectures  on  the  subject,  in  the  vestry 
of  the  Old  Dutch  Church,  in  Ann  Street. 

About  this  time  he  began  to  entertain  the  idea  of 


James   Gordon   Bennett.  493 

adopting  journalism  as  a  profession,  having  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  it  was  his  vocation.  In  1825  he  made 
his  first  effort  as  a  proprietor,  in  the  Sunday  Courier  ; 
but  not  succeeding  he  became  a  reporter  and  writer  for 
its  columns.  He  left  the  paper,  however^  in  a  few 
months,  began  the  National  Advocate^  a  Democratic 
journal,  and  opposed  the  tariff  and  the  system  of  bank- 
inor.  In  1827  he  became  a  warm  advocate  of  Martin 
Van  Buren,  at  that  time  in  Congress,  and,  on  the  de- 
cease of  the  Advocate  he  associated  himself  with  M. 
M.  Noah  in  the  editorial  management  of  the  Enquirer, 
then  in  the  Tammany  Hall  interest.  The  year  follow- 
ing he  went  to  Washington  as  correspondent  of  the  pa- 
per, and,  after  serving  faithfully  and  zealously  in  that 
capacity  for  about  twelve  months,  he  became  the  asso- 
ciate editor  of  the  Courier  and  Enquirer,  the  two  jour- 
nals having  been  merged  in  one.  Remaining  two  or 
three  years  in  that  capacity,  he  quarreled  with  James 
Watson  Webb,  the  leading  editor,  went  out  of  the  con- 
cern, and  issued  the  Daily  Globe.  The  new  paper  lived 
exactly  one  month  and  expired.  It  did  not  require 
much  capital  to  conduct  a  paper  thirty-five  years  ago, 
even  in  the  Metropolis,  but  the  funds  required  for  such 
enterprises  w^ere  very  difficult  to  raise. 

Bennett,  then  in  his  thirty-fifth  year,  had  been  con- 
nected with  at  least  a  dozen  papers,  in  different  capa- 
cities, and  had  been  any  thing  but  prosperous.  Those 
who  knew  him  declared  he  had  mistaken  his  calling ; 
that  while  he  had  decided  ability  and  energy,  he  lacked 
tact  and  managing  power.  He,  however,  retained  his 
faith  in  himself,  and  was  wont  to  say  he  had  never  got 
started  right.  He  continually  talked  about  having  a 
paper  of  his  own  some  day,  v/hich  he  felt  sure  would  be 


494  The   Great   Metropolis. 

a  great  success.  It  is  quite  likely  he  had  become  some- 
what discouraged  by  his  failures  here,  for  he  went  to 
Philadelphia  at  the  latter  part  of  1832,  raised  money 
enough  to  purchase  the  Pennsylvanian,  and  assumed 
editorial  charge  of  it.  That  city  was  not  large  enough 
for  him,  and  he  still  believed  New- York  to  be  the  best 
place  for  him  to  fix  the  lever  with  which  he  hoped  to 
move  the  American  Avorld. 

Consequently,  after  two  years'  residence  on  the  Dela- 
ware, he  came  back  to  the  Hudson,  and  in  1835  issued 
the  first  number  of  the  Herald. 

Bennett  had  very  little  money — only  a  few  hundred 
dollars,  it  is  said,  when  he  set  up  his  last  newspaper  in 
the  basement  of  a  building  in  Ann  Street,  not  far  from 
where  the  present  marble  structure  rears  its  costly  head. 
His  editorial  desk  was  a  board  on  two  barrels,  and  on 
that  he  wrote  untiringly,  for  the  first  few  weeks  doing 
all  the  edXorial  work  himself,  filling  the  little  sheet 
with  verses,  aromatic  gossip,  pungent  paragraphs,  city 
sketches,  and  such  light  and  varied  matter  as  the  public 
always  like  to  read. 

Whatever  the  character  of  the  contents  of  the  Herald 
in  those  days,  Bennett  knew  what  the  mass  of  people 
relished,  and  he  catered  to  them  zealously.  The  paper 
w^as  a  pecuniary  success  from  the  beginning.  In  a  few 
weeks  he  was  enabled  to  employ  assistance,  making  a 
feature  of  city  news  and  local  events,  in  which  he  had 
no  rivalry,  the  dailies  being  heavy,  and  prosy  to  the 
last  degree.  The  Commercial  Advertiser^  Evening  Post 
and  Journal  of  Commerce  were  alive  then,  but  they 
seemed  scarcely  conscious  of  the  fact,  and  did  nothing 
to  dispute  the  more  modern  and  novel  field  the  Herald 
had  opened. 


James   Gordon   Bennett.  495 

The  great  fire  in  this  City,  soon  after  the  birth  of  the 
new  paper,  gave  Bennett  ample  opportunity  to  show 
his  enterprise,  and  he  embraced  it  vigorously.  The  fol- 
lowing morning  the  little  daily  contained  a  full  account 
of  the  "  destructive  conflagration,"  as  the  reporters 
w^ould  call  it,  with  all  the  incidents  and  accidents  given 
in  a  vivid  and  picturesque  style.  That  was  really,  as 
the  Herald  is  so  fond  of  stating,  a  new  era  in  journalism ; 
and  from  that  day  to  this,  merely  as  a  newspaper,  it 
has  probably  had  no  equal  anywhere. 

Bennett  the  man  is  Bennett  the  journalist.  He  has 
breathed  his  individuality  and  all  his  idiosyncrasies  into 
it.  Not  many  persons  believe  in  the  Herald.  Its  in- 
fluence is  limited  among  cultivated  people ;  and  yet 
hardly  any  one  denies  its  tact  and  enterprise.  Bennett 
makes  no  pretension,  privately,  to  molding  public  opinion : 
he  follows  it.  He  is  inconsistent,  because  it  is  his  interest ; 
for  his  avowed  object  has  been  from  the  first  to  give  the 
news  and  make  money.  Principle  he  has  not,  because  he 
believes  in  no  one.  He  has  no  convictions,  and  does  not 
think  any  one  has  them.  Nothing,  in  his  view,  deserves 
serious  treatment.  All  men  and  all  pursuits  are  shams. 
One  thing  is  no  better  than  another,  and  we  are  all  selfish 
to  the  core  when  found  out. 

He  understands  the  philosophy  of  journalism  ;  that 
a  newspaper  is  entirely  a  thing  of  to-day  5  that  few 
readers  care  for  the  issue  of  yesterday  or  to-morrow, 
which  are  as  if  they  had  never  been.  Therefore  he 
issues  every  number  of  the  Herald  as  if  there  had  been 
none  before,  and  would  be  none  after  it.  He  believes 
with  Emerson  that  "  Consistency  is  the  hobgoblin  of 
little  minds,"  and  acts  accordingly. 

Privately,  Bennett  is  a  very  honest  and  strictly  moral 


496  The    Great   Metropolis. 

man.  He  owes  no  one,  and  so  far  as  I  can  learn,  never 
did  owe  a  dollar ;  paying  his  debts  having  always  been 
with  him  the  first  of  obligations.  He  was  never  other 
than  industrious  and  abstemious,  and  is  said  to  be  very 
charitable  without  the  least  ostentation.  Ever  since  his 
marriage,  which  was,  I  think,  in  1837,  he  has  been  a 
pattern  of  domesticity;  is  extremely  devoted  to  his 
wife,  a  highly  accomplished  woman,  and  his  two  children, 
James  Gordon,  Jr.,  the  manager  of  the  Herald,  and  a 
daughter  Lily,  a  promising  girl  of  sixteen.  He  has  a 
very  handsome  house  at  Washington  Heights,  and  a  fine 
private  residence  in  Fifth  Avenue.  His  income  from  the 
Herald  is  fully  $300,000  per  annum,  and  his  fortune  is 
estimated  at  $3,000,000  or  $4,000,000,  every  penny  of 
which  he  has  made  by  his  journal.  He  is,  and  has 
always  been,  the  opposite  of  gregarious.  He  never  went 
into  society,  and  the  sole  instance  I  can  remember  of 
his  presence  at  any  festival  or  public  occasion,  was  at 
the  Sir  Morton  Peto  dinner  at  Delmonico's  in  the  Autumn 
of  18G5.  Then  he  seemed  quite  lost  and  ill  at  ease. 
He  did  not  appear  to  know  any  one,  nor  any  one  to  know 
him. 

When  sought,  he  is  affable  enough,  but  talks  little, 
and  has  no  relish  for  society  of  any  kind. 

Personally,  he  is  over  six  feet  in  height,  but  is  now 
bent  with  age.  He  is  rather  slight,  his  eye  gray,  his 
hair  white,  and  worn  rather  long,  with  a  strange,  half 
cynical,  half  comical  expression,  which  makes  his  coun- 
tenance difficult  to  read.  He  still  speaks  with  a  strong 
Scotch  accent,  which  is  very  marked  when  he  is  irri- 
tated, and  his  irritation  has  increased  with  his  years. 
His  intellect  is  clear  and  vigorous,  and  his  acquirements 
numerous.     He    writes    nothing    in   these   days;    but 


James   Gordon   Bennett.  497 

in  his  working  period  he  wrote  rapidly,  nervously,  and 
gracefully  on  almost  any  subject;  the  skepticism,  cyni- 
cism, and  raillery  of  his  temperament,  always  cropping 
out. 

Of  late  years  Bennett  has  shown  signs  of  declining 
health.  He  takes  excellent  care  of  himself,  however, 
going  to  bed  every  night  at  nine  o'clock.  He  visits  the 
Herald  only  two  or  three  times  a  week,  but  is  still  in 
every  respect  its  editor,  and  feels  as  much  interest  in  it 
as  when  he  toiled  to  establish  it. 

There  is  little  need  for  his  visiting  the  office  often; 
for  he  can  direct  the  establishment  by  telegraph,  a  wire 
communicating  with  it  from  Washington  Heights.  When- 
ever any  event  of  consequence  occurs  his  opinion  is 
obtained  in  regard  to  its  treatment  for  the  next  day's 
paper,  the  name  of  the  requfred  writer  being  frequently 
given  by  him.  All  the  City  and  leading  country  dailies 
are  taken  to  his  house  every  morning.  He  reads  them; 
marks  the  articles  that  strike  his  attention ;  makes  sug- 
gestions as  to  the  editorials ;  sees  proofs  often,  in  fact ; 
supervises  the  Herald  very  much  as  he  used  to  when 
he  wrote  on  the  head  of  a  barrel  in  the  Ann  Street  cellar. 

Bennett  scarcely  ever  goes  off  the  island ;  seldom 
comes  to  his  elegant  town-house  in  the  Avenue.  He  is 
methodical,  abstemious,  industrious,  isolated.  He  rises 
at  five;  never  calls  on  anybody,  but  receives  courteously 
and  hospitably  all  who  visit  him.  Mrs.  Bennett  and  her 
daughter  are  in  Europe,  where  they  spend  half  their 
time,  and  J.  G.  B.,  Jr.,  is  fond  of  rambling,  and  wedded 
to  his  yacht. 

Lonely  old  man  is  he ;  but  he  has  attained  his  sole 
ambition — he  has  made  the  Herald  a  great  newspaper — 
and  in  the  midst  of  its  reputation  James  Gordon  Ben- 

32 


498  The   Great   Metropolis. 

nett,  the  man,  is  hardly  known,  rarely  esteemed,  never 
loved. 

Bennett  has  few  friends — he  does  not  want  them,  I 
suspect — no  hopes  and  no  ambitions  outside  of  the  Her- 
ald. He  can  not  live  much  longer ;  but  while  he  does,  he 
will  be  its  autocrat  and  master  mind  ;  and  his  last  hours 
will  doubtless  be  comforted  with  the  thought  that  James 
Gordon  Bennett  was  to  the  very  last  the  editor  and  pro- 
prietor of  the  New-York  Herald, 


CHAPTER  LVL 

THE    CHINESE    EMBASSY    IN    NEW    YORK. 

This  chapter  shall  be  devoted  to  a  very  liberal  trans- 
lation of  a  letter  written  by  Ghin  Sling,  one  of  the 
Chinese  embassy,  while  here,  to  his  friend,  Nho  Gho,  an 
estimable  citizen  of  Foo  Chow,  and  which  has  appeared 
in  the  Yah-ki-li-yo  Link-Mns-lco  (the  morning  bulletin) 
of  that  city.  The  impression  and  opinions  of  the  intel- 
lis^ent  and  observant  Celestial  are  of  interest  as  showino; 
how  many  things  in  the  Metropolis  appear  to  the  un- 
biased eyes  of  a  person  whose  experiences  and  sym- 
pathies have  been  so  widely  different  from  our  own. 
His  letter  reads  as  follows  : — 

Beloved  and  serene  Nho-Gho,  Friend  of  my  Soul 
and  Idol  of  my  Heart :  I  am  filled  with  amazement  in 
this  new  and  wonderful  country.  I  admire  it  very  much  ; 
but  I  can't  at  all  comprehend  it.  This  City,  which  they 
tell  me  is  larger  than  Peking,  and  Canton,  and  Shanghai 
combined,  delights  and  surprises  me  more  and  more  as 
I  get  acquainted  with  it.  I  can't  resist  the  temptation 
of  telling  you  something  about  New- York,  or  Gotham, 
or  Manhattan,  or  the  Empire-City,  or  New- Amsterdam, 
or  Swindletown  (it  has  all  these  names)  ;  for  it  is  a 
puzzle  more  ingenious  than  the  ones  w^e  used  to  amuse 
ourselves  with  when  we  were  at  the  imperial  university 
at  Souchong. 


500  The   Great   Metropolis. 

When  we  first  went  to  the  hotel, — it  is  named  after 
some  clergyman, — I  ordered  a  stewed  puppy  for  supper  ; 
but  the  landlord  (they  call  him  such  because  he  isn't  a 
lord  and  hasn't  any  land)  told  me  that  he  was  out  of 
puppies  ;  but  that  there  was  one  in  the  room  next  to  his 
which  barked  all  night,  and  that  I  was  welcome  to  it. 
He  said  I  must  catch  it  myself,  as  it  was  the  custom  of 
the  country  for  gentlemen  of  distinction  to  hunt  their 
own  game. 

He  advised  me  to  stand  in  front  of  the  door  of  the 
room,  and  whistle  for  a  few  minutes.  I  could  not 
whistle, — though  all  the  Americans  whistle, — so  I  sang 
the  song  of  our  native  land,  "  Hi,  Hi,  yah-che-ning,"  at 
the  top  of  my  voice. 

The  door  opened  in  a  moment,  and  a  lady  with  a 
singular  costume,  cut  low  in  the  neck  and  short  at  the 
bottom,  hanging  loose  and  entirely  plain  (I  had  never 
seen  any  such  before,  but  I  have  learned  since  that  it  is 
a  full  evening  dress),  made  her  appearance,  holding  a 
little  white  woolly  -dog  by  a  blue  ribbon,  and  crying, 
"  Burglars,  burglars." 

I  said,  ^^  Beautiful  lady  (she  wasn't  beautiful  at  all, 
but,  unless  you  call  all  the  women  beautiful,  you  are  a| 
brute),  'Burglars  is  not  my  name.      I  am  Ghin-Sling,i 
of  the  Embassy." 

'•  Oh,  I  have  often  heard  of  you,"  she  answered.  "  You're| 
an  old  friend  of  my  husband.  He  is  very  fond  of  you;i 
but  I  hate  you." 

I  did  not  like  to  dispute  what  she  said ;  for  men  wh( 
contradict  women  are  considered  monsters  here, 
thought  I'd  merely  get  the  dog.  I  therefore  seized  the 
blue  ribbon,  and  pulled  the  little  animal  along  the  hall, 
his  loud  yelps  much  increasing  my  appetite.     Alas,  th( 


The   Chinese   Embassy   in   New   York.        501 

lady  made  more  noise  than  the  dog.  She  cried  "  Murder, 
fire,  thieves  "  ;  and  in  a  minute  the  hall  was  full  of  per- 
sons, many  of  them  servants,  who  seized  me  by  the  pig- 
tail, and  asked  me  where  I  was  going,  and  what  I  was 
about. 

I  said  I  was  about  stopped. 

The  lady  declared  I  had  stolen  her  poodle  (what  a 
queer  name  that,  for  a  dog !)  and  tried  to  break  into  her 
chamber. 

At  this  I  was  dumfounded,  or  found  dumb,  I  don't 
know  which,  and,  with  open  eyes  and  mouth,  stood 
helpless  in  the  hands  of  my  enemies. 

I  recovered  my  voice  at  last,  and  explained  that  the 
landlord  had  told  me  to  take  the  puppy,  and  have  it 
cooked. 

A  burly  fellow  said  he'd  cook  my  goose  for  me.  I 
replied  I  didn't  want  a  goose,  but  a  puppy. 

The  landlord  was  called,  and  I  appealed  to  him.  He 
ordered  the  man  to  let  go  of  me,  and  said  he  didn't 
mean  I  should  carry  off  the  lady's  dog  ;  that  he  intended 
it  as  a  jest.  '^  It's  strange,  my  friend,"  he  added,  "  that 
you  can't  take  a  jest." 

"  He  can't  take  any  thing  but  poodles,"  said  the  lady 
sharply  from  behind  the  door  where  she  had  retreated 
because  she  waa  too  much  dressed,  I  suppose,  to  receive 
common  company. 

The  dog  was  restored  to  her,  and  the  landlord  asked 
me  down  stairs  to  try  an  '^  eye-opener."  I  went  down 
to  what  they  style  the  bar,  because  it  is  so  easy  to  get 
into  it,  and  tried  the  eye-opener,  which  was  something 
very  hot  in  a  tumbler. 

I  liked  it,  for  it  made  me  feel  as  if  I  were  light  as  a 
feather,  and  a  mandarin  with  three  pig-tails.    I  repeated 


502  The    Great   Metropolis. 

the  remedy  a  number  of  times,  and  got  lighter  and 
lighter.  I  danced  the  chop-stick  dance,  and  quoted 
Confucius,  which,  I  was  told,  sounded  like  a  speech  in 
Congress. 

I  found,  however,  the  eye-opener,  like  every  thing 
else  here,  is  misnamed;  for  my  eyes  grew  so  heavy  that 
I  couldn't  keep  them  open.  I  made  an  effort  to  em- 
brace the  landlord,  and  fell  through  the  window-glass. 
I  didn't  remember  any  thing  more  until  I  woke  up  with 
what  I  thought  to  be  live  coals  in  my  mouth,  and  a  feel- 
ing as  if  the  yelping  puppy  had  gotten  into  my  brain. 

I  didn't  want  any  more  eye-opener. 

My  experience  at  the  hotel  induced  me  to  go  away 
from  it  immediately  after  breakfast,  I  ordered  fried 
rats.  They  were  strange  rats  I  ate.  They  had  wool 
on  them ;  but  I  suppose  they  are  different  in  America 
from  the  rats  in  China. 

I  hardly  kne^y  where  to  go.  So  I  took  a  City  direc- 
tory, and  concluded  to  visit  the  different  places  of  inter- 
est in  town.  I  looked  for  the  Morgue,  and,  following 
the  directions  of  the  book,  I  went  up  one  street  and 
down  another;  retraced  my  steps;  crossed  forty  or  fifty 
back  yards  ;  fell  into  a  number  of  cellars  ;  w^as  attacked 
by  dogs  because  I  wanted  to  take  some  of  them  to  the 
hotel  for  dinner.  I  w^as  really  sea-sick  ;  but,  deter- 
mined to  be  guided  by  the  book,  I  walked  into  the  river. 

This  created  an  excitement  on  the  dock,  and  a  stal- 
wart fellow  pulled  me  out  by  the  pig-tail.  I  was  asked 
my  name.  I  gave  it,  when  the  crowd  laughed ;  some 
declaring  I  had  taken  too  much  water  in  my  gin-sling, 
and  others,  that  I  had  taken  too  much  gin-sling  in  my 
water.  I  was  a  very  singular  spectacle  when  I  was 
pulled  out.     I  had  an  opportunity  to  judge ;  for  an  en- 


The    Chinese   Embassy   in   New   York.        503 

terprising  photographer  of  Broadway  copied  me  in  water- 
colors  before  I  had  been  in  the  river  two  seconds.  He 
sent  me  one  of  his  pictures,  which  I  inclose  to  you. 

He  asked  me  to  forward  him  a  portrait  of  the  Em- 
peror of  China  in  return,  and  an  autograph  letter  recom- 
mending his  establishment.  I  did  so  the  next  day,  and 
I  have  since  learned  he  exhibits  my  letter  as  the  original 
manuscript  of  the  editor  of  the  Tribune^  an  excellent  but 
peculiar  gentleman,  who  keeps  a  private  secretary  to 
decipher  his  articles  for  him  after  they  are  written,  and 
to  inform  him  when  he  gets  hungry. 

I  tried  to  find  Central  Park  by  the  directory,  and  got 
into  the  Communipaw  slaughter-house ;  to  reach  Green- 
wood, said  to  be  the  most  lively  place  about  New- York, 
and  found  myself  in  a  beer-brewery.  They  tell  me 
there  is  a  good  deal  of  beer  in  both  localities.  After 
that  I  lost  faith  in  the  directory,  and,  rambling  about  by 
my  own  instincts,  I  got  along  better. 

I  had  heard  much  of  the  Chinese  in  Vesey  street, — I 
presume  it  is  a  misprint  for  Tea-see  street, — and,  long- 
ing to  meet  some  of  my  countrymen  who  had  been  here 
a  great  while,  I  went  there. 

I  soon  discovered  a  Chinaman,  with  a  long  cue,  in  our 
native  costume.  I  addressed  him  in  our  own  celestial 
tongue. 

He  replied:  ^^Arrah,  now, ye  spalpeen,  what  wud  yez 
be  afther  ?  Yer'  no  Chanymon.  Git  out  wid  ye,  or  I'll 
split  the  ear  of  ye,  by  the  mim'ry  of  St.  Pathrick." 

I  could  not  understand  such  Chinese  as  that,  and  con- 
cluded that  he  must  have  forgotten  his  own  language, 
he'd  been  so  long  in  America. 

I  determined  to  buy  some  of  the  tea,  and  I  did.  I 
drank  it  the  same  evening  ^  but  didn't  recognize  it  as 


504  The   Great   Metropolis. 

tea.  It's  a  new  kind,  raised  mostly  in  New-Jersey,  a 
country  the  Americans  talk  of  annexing  to  the  United 
States  if  they  can  buy  it  of  Camden  &  Amboy,  two  gen- 
tlemen who  own  the  entire  region,  and  compel  people  to 
pay  a  tax  for  traveling  through  it. 

I  was  rather  hungry  by  this  time.  I  walked  up 
Broadway,  the  principal  street,  where  thousands  of  per- 
sons perform  extraordinary  and  perilous  tricks,  such  as 
leaping  on  stages,  running  under  horses'  feet,  and  clam- 
bering over  the  heads  of  carmen.  They  do  it  for  amuse- 
ment ;  not  charging  any  thing  for  the  exhibition.  The 
police  arrest  men  there  often  for  getting  in  the  way  of 
wagons,  and  fine  them,  when  they  have  their  legs  bro- 
ken, for  obstructing  the  progress  of  commerce. 

When  I  came  opposite  a  large  house  where  many  men 
were  eating,  I  entered  and  sat  down.  I  was  opposite  a 
famous  juggler,  who  performed  wonderful  feats  of  knife- 
swallowing,  and  seemed  entirely  indifferent  to  the  admi- 
ration he  excited.  A  boy  came  to  me  and  asked  me 
what  I  wanted.  Having  had  unpleasant  experience  in 
puppies  and  rats,  I  asked  for  crackers.  "  Chinese  crack- 
ers ?"  he  inquired. 

"  Yes,  if  you  have  them." 

"  Will  you  have  them  light  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  the  lighter  the  better." 

In  a  few  minutes  he  returned  with  a  plate  full  of  the 
little  red  paper  pop-guns  we  make  in  our  country;  and, 
before  I  could  remonstrate  with  him,  he  lighted  them, 
saying : — "  Look  here,  old  Celestial,  this  is  one  of  the 
matches  made  in  Heaven !" 

The  crackers  went  off  in  fine  style,  and  I  did  like- 
wise. Before  I  had  gotten  far,  a  boy  from  the  eating- 
house  ran  after  me,  and  pulling  my  cue  (why  in  the 


The   Chinese   Embassy   in   New  York.       505 

name  of  Josh  does  every  one  try  to  take  the  cue  from 
me  ?),  inquired  :  "  Buy  these  ?  Buy  these  ?  Good, 
good  ;  bow,  wow,  wow  !"  So  speaking,  he  held  up  a  long 
line  of  sausages,  and  again  made  the  bow,  wow,  wow 
sound. 

I  told  him  I  spoke  English.  Then  he  remarked  : 
''  Dog  in  all  of  these.  I  know — we  make  'em  ourselves. 
Don't  use  any  thing  but  dog.  Get  dogs  in  the  Pound, 
every  Summer;  make  great  many  sausages  out  of  'em. 
Genuine  dog-sausages.     Buy  'em,  old  fel  ?" 

I  declined,  and  the  boy  left  me,  with  the  remark  that  I 
was  an  old  pudding-head,  which  no  doubt  was  compli- 
mentary, as  it  signified  something  to  eat,  and  that  I  w^as 
a  man  of  desert. 

While  I  continued  walking  up  Broadway,  there  were 
several  alarms  of  fire,  and  I  saw  two  or  three  stores 
burn  up — they  say  '^up"  when  they  mean  ''down,"  in 
this  strange  country — in  splendid  style.  I  asked  where 
the  roast  pig  was ;  but  was  informed  they  didn't  roast 
pigs  that  way  here. 

I  met  a  gentleman  looking  on  like  myself,  and  I  ex- 
pressed my  surprise  at  so  many  fires. 

"  The  reason,"  said  he,  "  is  the  dullness  of  trade,  which 
makes  buildings  so  inflammable,  they  catch  fire  when 
there  isn't  a  spark  near  them." 

I  said  I  couldn't  comprehend  how  the  state  of  com- 
merce could  make  houses  spontaneously  combustible.  He 
replied  that  the  insurance  companies  were  in  my  predic- 
ament ;  that  they  couldn't  tell  either,  though  they  had 
given  a  deal  of  attention  to  the  subject.  He  said  the 
best  way  to  insure  a  house  against  fire  was  not  to  insure 
it  at  all ;  that  uninsured  buildings,  for  some  mysterious 
reason,  wouldn't  burn. 


506  The   Great   Metropolis. 

As  I  walked  on,  I  noticed  a  number  of  signs  above 
underground  places,  about  "  pretty  waiter-girls."  I 
thought  I'd  like  to  see  them.  So  I  went  down  into  one 
of  the  saloons,  as  they  are  called.  The  girls  carried 
waiters,  but  not  prettiness.  Indeed,  they  were  excess- 
ively homely,  several  of  them  having  painted  their 
noses  red,  and  their  eyes  black  and  blue,  which  didn't 
improve  their  appearance.  Two  of  them  came  up  to 
me,  and  sat  down  in  my  lap,  declaring  I  was  a  "  liunky 
old  boy,"  which  I  didn't  understand.  Several  placards 
stated  that  no  intoxicating  liquors  were  sold  ;  and  I  was 
surprised  to  see  men  drink  a  few  glasses  of  soda-water, 
and  go  out  reeling  like  sailors  in  a  storm.  I  believe  the 
soda-water  in  New- York  is  very  strong.  The  "  pretty 
waiter-girls  "  were  very  kind  to  me.  They  played  with 
my  pig-tail,  and  induced  me  to  "  treat."  They  urged  me 
to  treat  again,  and  I  retreated. 

When  I  got  out,  I  missed  my  purse,  and  I  suppose  the 
good  girls  took  it  to  remember  me  by.  One  of  them  had 
wished  to  borrow  my  watch  to  take  medicine  by,  she 
said  ;  but  I  refused  to  let  her  have  it.  I  missed  that, 
too.     She  had  helped  herself  to  it,  no  doubt. 

Dear  girl,  w^hat  a  delicate  proof  of  her  devotion! 
What  charming  surprises  this  country  has  for  me ! 

I  had  become  very  tired  by  this  time.  I  stepped  out 
of  Broadway,  where  I  had  difficulty  in  getting  along, 
and  where  everybody  seemed  to  have  only  a  few  mo- 
ments left  to  do  something  very  important.  I  had 
noticed  several  men  who  hurried  by  me  as  if  they  w^ere 
walking  for  the  championship  of  America, — a  patriotic 
obligation  here, — and,  when  I  had  proceeded  a  little  far- 
ther, I  perceived  them  lounging  on  the  hotel  steps, 
yawning  from  weariness. 


r 


The    Chinese   Embassy   m   New   York.        507 

A  street  car  passed  me,  and  I  was  about  to  get  on, 
but  the  car  was  crowded  inside  and  out,  a  dozen  men 
holding  on  by  their  hands. 

"  Come  on,  Johnny,"  cried  the  conductor;  "plenty  of 
room  for  you ;"  and  he  reached  out,  and  catching  me  by 
the  cue  tied  me  to  the  platform.  I  was  dragged  for 
several  blocks.  When  he  asked  for  my  fare,  I  said  I 
had  not  ridden,  but  he  swore  I  had  had  a  preferred  seat ; 
that  it  was  the  custom  to  charge  double  for  dragging  a 
man  in  that  fashion  ;  but  that  if  any  one  made  a  row, 
he  could  pay  single  fare  and  walk. 

I  went  inside  then,  as  a  hundred  or  two  had  got  ten 
off.  I  hadn't  been  there  but  a  few  minutes  when  two 
brutal-looking  fellows  (I  imagine  they  contradicted 
women,  and  called  them  homely)  sprang  upon  the  car; 
shook  hands  with  the  dri^-er  and  conductor,  and  began  to 
take  the  passengers'  watches  and  pocket-books.  When 
they  demanded  mine,  I  said  I  had  lost  them.  "  Oh, 
yes,"  they  replied,  '^  you've  been  on  another  car.  Here, 
Bob,"  said  one  to  the  other,  "  give  this  chap  a  pass." 
So  "  Bob"  gave  me  this  slip  of  stiff  paper,  on  which  was 
printed  :  "  Let  the  bearer  alone.  We've  been  through 
him.     All  right.     Bummer  &  Co." 

The  two  fellows  remained  on  the  car,  and  in  a  short 
time  began  taking  the  coats  of  the  passengers.  Not 
liking  that,  I  got  off,  and  walked  to  the  hotel. 

I  was  very  tired,  and  ordering  a  plate  of  rice  and  a 
chop-stick,  which  was  a  mutton  chop  when  it  came,  I 
ate  it,  and  went  to  my  room. 

I  lay  down  and  reflected  on  the  beautiful  freedom  of 
the  country.  In  what  other  land  would  strange  men 
and  women  help  themselves  to  your  w^atch  and  purse ; 
pull  your  pig-tail ;  and  explode  crackers  in  your  face  ? 


508  The   Great   Metropolis. 

0,  blessed  America,  I  have  never  appreciated  you  half 
enough!  And,  so  thinking,  I  turned  over  and  fell 
asleep. 

Adoringly  and  eternally  yours, 

Ghin-Sling. 

Here  ends  Ghin-Sling's  letter,  of  which  I  have  endeav- 
ored to  give  the  true  spirit,  and  whose  openness  and  can- 
dor no  one  can  help  admiring. 


CHAPTER  LVII. 
JENKINSISM    IN    THE    METROPOLIS. 

The  race  of  Jenkinses  is  numerous,  enterprising,  and 
gifted.  Jenkins,  the  original,  and  his  numerous  imi- 
tators, have  of  late  performed  many  extraordinary  feats 
in  the  way  of  florid  description  and  picturesque"  detail. 
Weddings  are  their  delight.  They  revel  in  weddings  ; 
exhaust  metaphor,  the  dictionary,  and  patience.  I  have 
secured  for  this  volume  a  Jenkins,  one  who  will  do  honor 
to  his  tribe.  He  comes  to  me  highly  recommended. 
He  can  acquit  himself  more  creditably  at  a  dinner,  by 
reason  of  his  excellent  appetite,  and  can  use  more  words 
with  fewer  ideas,  than  almost  any  of  his  profession.  He 
has  just  assisted  at  a  hymeneal  union  (I  employ  his  ex- 
pression) in  the  City,  and  sends  me  his  account,  which 
I  print  with  small  variation  from  his  eloquent  MS. 
Thus  it  reads  : — 

For  months  past  the  most  elegant  and  reclierche  so- 
ciety of  the  gilded  and  perfumed  Rosemary  square  has 
been  in  a  condition  of  the  genteelest  excitement  over 
the  announcement  of  the  engagement  of  Miss  Sophronia 
Clarissa  Lovelace,  youngest  daughter  of  Peter  Lovelace, 
Esq.,  an  accomplished  artist  in  hides  and  leather,  and 
brother  of  the  distinguished  William  Lovelace,  Esq., 
third  vice-president  of  the  Boyletown  Base  Ball  club, 
and  R.  Simpson  Wiggins,  Esq.,  a  gentlemen  of  means 


510  The   Great   Metropolis. 

and  culture,  who  at  one  time  presided  over  the  destinies 
of  a  tape  establishment  in  Sixth  avenue,  and  won  for 
himself  fame  and  fortune  by  selling  short  measure  w^ith 
a  grace  and  urbanity  that  will  long  be  remembered. 

Hundreds  of  beautiful  creatures  who  had  vainly 
sighed  for  R.  Simpson  Wiggins  w^ere  distressed  and  made 
desolate  when  they  heard  the  news;  so  painful  to 
them,  so  delightful  to  Sophronia  Clarissa.  They  for- 
bore to  take  tea  for  an  hour  and  a  half,  and  threw  out 
dark  hints  of  joining  the  Sorosis.  They  yielded,  how- 
ever, to  the  inevitable,  and  made  congratulatory  visits 
to  the  fiancee.  They  found  her  beauty  changed 
sadly  ;  but  they  kissed  her,  calling  her  "  dear,"  with 
cherry  lips. 

The  months  of  fluttering  were  quieted  when  the  high 
w^edding  came  off  in  the  church  of  Saint  Hymen,  which 
had  been  newly  painted  for  the  occasion,  and  which 
seemed  to  smile  from  its  richly  stained  windows  upon 
the  lovely  couple  who  were  to  be  made  one,  unless  incom- 
patibility of  temperament,  or  unwillingness  of  the  bride- 
groom to  disgorge  the  spondulicks  (a  modish  phrase  for 
paying  bills),  interfered  with  their  domesticity. 

The  scene  was  imposing  and  touching  to  the  last  de- 
gree-. It  moved  the  elder  Lovelace  to  transports  of  de- 
light ;  and  he  clutched  his  pocket-book  as  if  he  thought 
that  instrument  of  his  power  would  henceforth  be  in  less 
demand. 

A  dozen  milliners  and  mantua-makers,  who  stood  on 
the  outer  rim  of  the  brilliant  assembly,  smiled  blandly 
on  the  bride,  and  glowered  on  the  bridegroom  as  though 
they  meditated  revenge  upon  his  swollen  purse. 

A  score  of  bridesmaids,  wearing  trains  that  were 
longer  and  moved  slower  than  those  of  the  Camden  and 


Jenkinsism   in   the   Metropolis.  511 

Amboy  company,  and  bearing  a  sunflower  above  their 
charmingly  retrousse  noses  (the  noses  were  of  the  newest 
pattern,  and  brought  over  by  the  last  French  steamer), 
lent  dazzling  radiance  to  the  beatitudes  of  the  occasion, 
and  promised  to  keep  Lent  with  as  much  religious  rigor 
as  though  they  had  been  umbrellas.  Their  hair  was 
splendid,  having  cost  $500  apiece,  and  every  mother's 
daughter  claimed  she  wore  the  identical  tresses  severed 
from  the  head  of  Marie  Antoinette  on  the  eve  of  her 
execution.  The  bridesmaids  w^ere  as  accomplished  as 
beautiful.  They  spoke  French  so  excellently  that  no 
native  of  Paris  could  understand  them ;  were  magnifi- 
cent croquet  players,  and  deeply  versed  in  the  litera- 
ture of  Madame  Demorest's  magazine. 

As  to  the  bride,  how  shall  we  describe  her  ?  She 
looked  like  Venus  on  the  half-shell,  or  Juno  before  be- 
ginning a  row  with  Jupiter,  or  Hebe  Avith  the  (hie) cup 
of  nectar  drained  by  the  immortal  gods.  Heaven  was 
in  her  eye ;  and  in  her  hand  a  handkerchief  trimmed 
with  lace,  wrought  in  the  looms  of  Hoboken  at  $50  an 
inch,  and  which  the  gallant  and  chivalrous  Wiggins  was 
wont  to  declare  over  his  Rudesheimer  he  paid  $50.75 
an  inch  for. 

The  exaggeration  must  be  forgiven  to  Wiggins^  in 
consideration  of  the  enthusiasm  of  love  and  his  fondness 
for  base-ball,  which  we  have  heretofore  neglected  to 
mention,  and  which  was  largely  instrumental  in  bringing 
to  the  elder  Lovelace's  mind  his  fitness  to  become  a  son- 
in-law. 

Miss  Lovelace  wore  a  dress  of  satin  damask  persiflage, 
with  trimmings  of  Bourdaloue  haisezmahouche,  looped  up 
with  \)nv^\Q  pate  de  foie  gras  of  petroleum  wells  in  min- 
iature. Her  gaiters  were  of  white  bourgeois  silk,  coming 


512  The   Great   Metropolis. 

above  the  classic  ankle,  and  lined  with  perfumed  ailes 
de  papillon  from  Astrachan.  She  also  wore  an  over- 
skirt  of  demi  point  and  demnition-foine  Mantalini  lace, 
while  her  imperial  veil,  covering  her  from  her  chignon 
to  the  Castilian  arch  of  her  alabaster  foot,  was  a  frag- 
ment of  the  original  vale  of  tears,  usually  donned  some- 
what later  in  life.  Her  gloves  were  embroidered  on  the 
back  with  the  monogram  of  her  family,  S.  H.  A.  M. ; 
each  glove  having  four  fingers  and  one  thumb,  and  in- 
geniously arranged  with  a  large  hole  at  the  end  to  facil- 
itate the  ingress  and  egress  of  her  fairy-like  hand, 
which  is  asserted  to  be  so  good  that  it  will  beat  four 
aces  in  the  elegant  pastime  of  draw-poker. 

The  lady's  robe  was  also  trimmed  with  sprigs  of  mint, 
specially  ordered  by  the  bridegroom,  that  during  their 
bridal  tour  he  might,  in  the  event  of  reaching  an  uncivil- 
ized place,  make  juleps  from  his  wife's  toilette.  About 
her  snowy  neck  hung  a  strand  of  diamonds,  dug  from 
the  mines  of  Chatham  street,  and  so  remarkable  that 
three  balls  were  given  in  their  honor  when  they  last 
chansfed  hands. 

o 

Miss  Lovelace  w^as  finally  attired  in  a  pair  of  blue 
eyes,  bordered  with  a  delicate  crimson,  and  a  mouth  of 
so  genuine  a  carmine  that  the  color  had  been  actually 
known  to  rub  off.  Before  the  ceremony,  she  fainted 
three  times,  but  w^as  restored  through  sympathy  with 
the  bridegroom,  who  went  out  to  '^  see  a  man,"  and  re- 
turned looking  as  if  he  had  found  him. 

Mr.  Wiggins  was  the  embodiment  of  imperial  splendor. 
He  had  traveled.  He  had  sailed  up  and  down  the  Dead 
Sea  until  some  of  his  intimates  called  him  a  dead  beat, 
— a  flattering  epithet  he  modestly  rejected.  He  had 
been  in  the  interior  of  Africa,  and  had  traveled  under 


Jenkinsism   in   the   Metrofolis.  513 

the  guidance  of  some  of  the  natives  farther  into  New- 
Jersey  than  any  civilized  person  had  ever  before  pene- 
trated. He  had  explored  the  sources  of  the  Nile,  the 
Hackensack,  and  Schiedam  Schnapps.  He  was  a  man 
of  nerve  and  a  gymnast.  He  had  wrestled  with  the 
decanter  ;  and  had  been  thrown  again  and  again  ;  but  he 
had  always  returned  to  the  charge,  though  it  was  often 
as  high  as  fifty  cents. 

Mr.  Wiggins's  cosmopolitan  experiences  had  taught 
him  to  disreofard  the  conventional  forms  of  dress.     On 

o 

the  occasion,  he  discarded  black,  except  a  black  eye, 
which  he  had  contracted  the  night  before,  in  endeavor- 
ing to  investigate  too  closely  the  kind  of  wood  of  which 
a  policeman's  mace  was  made.  lie  had  on  a  green  coat 
(bottle  green),  with  copper  buttons,  a  scarlet  vest, 
blending  beautifully  with  his  complexion,  and  pants  of 
profound  azure,  assimilating  with  his  next  morning 
moods.  He  wore  a  hollyhock  in  his  button-hole,  and 
his  nose  was  arrayed  in  deep  purple. 

Asked  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Bumfoozle  if  he  would  accept 
Sophronia  for  his  wedded  wife,  Mr.  Wiggins  exclaimed, 
in  very  musical  tones,  ^'You  bet;"  and  invited  the 
clergyman  out  to  drink.  When  the  couple  were  pro- 
nounced man  and  lady,  the  organ  pealed,  which  shocked 
the  sensitive  bride,  who  could  not  bear  tones,  to  such  a 
degree,  that  she  said,  '^  Take  me  to  my  ma." 

The  tune  was  changed  at  once,  and  Offenbach's  '^0, 
landlord,  fill  the  flowing  bowl!"  substituted.  That  so 
exhilarated  Mr.  Wiggins,  that  he  showed  his  apprecia- 
tion of  the  music  by  having  a  first-class  attack  of  deli- 
rium tremens,  w^hich  the  elegant  company  applauded  to 
the  echo. 

The  bride  said,  ''  Dear  Wig,  do  it  again!     It's  really 

33 


514  The   Great   Metropolis. 

splendid,  you  sliake  beautifully,  and  wlien  you  cry  out, 
'  Look  at  the  snakes  in  mjA  boots  !'  I  forget  for  the 
moment  you  have  on  pumps."  Mr.  Wiggins  declined 
to  respond  to  the  encore^  but  offered  to  read  one  of 
Tupper's  poems  instead,  which  was  not  accepted.  The 
organ  then  performed  a  'pot-fourri  from  Belladonna, 
while  the  chief  vocalist  of  the  choir  sang  a  solo — so  low 
no  one  could  hear  it — and  Herr  Limberger,  a  relative 
of  the  Bier  family,  performed  an  obligate  on  the  bass 
drum. 

An  affidavit  w^as  now  made  that  the  ceremony  was 
over.  The  bridegroom  danced  a  clog  dance,  and  having 
gone  to  see  several  more  men,  he  was  carried  home  on  a 
shutter, — a  paper  prepared  for  the  Historical  Society 
being  read  over  his  prostrate  form,  with  such  happy  ef- 
fect that  he  had  only  two  more  attacks  of  del.  trem.  en 
route  to  the  bride's  father's  palatial  residence. 

Among  the  distinguished  guests  present  we  noticed 
Darius  Alexander  Jones,  Esq.,  w4io  led  the  German  last 
winter — off  the  dock,  and  had  to  pay  his  funeral  ex- 
penses. P.  Berwick  Dexter,  Esq.,  known  to  the  scien- 
tific w^orld  as  having  assisted  in  making  most  of  the 
artesian  wells  in  the  country,  and  recently  engaged  in 
conducting  the  operations  of  the  Hoosac  tunnel.  His 
ancestors  died  at  Potter's  Field,  and  he  is  a  direct  de- 
scendant of  the  ancient  augurs. 

Col.  Charles  Augustus  Wisha washy,  who  was  one  of 
the  first  gentlemen  that  ever  led  a  little  dog  wdth  a  rib- 
bon down  the  Avenue,  and  who  can  distinguish  guipure 
lace  from  Valenciennes  with  his  eyes  shut  and  his  coat 
off. 

Hon.  Paul  Jeunechien,  who  has  received  the  endearin, 
name  of  "puppy"  from  his, fashionable  lady  friends,  and! 


I 


Jenkinsism   in  the   Metropolis.  515 

who  has  the  smallest  foot,  considering  the  size  of  the 
boot  he  wears,  of  any  bezique  player  in  Poodle  Place. 

Dr.  George  Lancet,  whose  fondness  for  horses  induced 
him  to  abandon  the  lucrative  profession  of  borrowing 
money  when  no  one  would  loan  him  any  more,  and  turn 
his  time  and  talent  to  the  diseases  of  equine  quadrupeds. 
In  the  choicest  circles  he  is  famiharly  known  as  "  Old 
Vet;"  but  is  in  no  manner  related  to  the  contributor  of 
the  Times. 

After  the  wedding,  a  reception  was  given  at  the  man- 
sion of  the  bride's  father.  During  the  evening,  a  num- 
ber of  the  gentlemen  ate  Sweitzer  cheese  for  the  cham- 
pionship of  America,  and  closed  the  hospitalities  of  the 
delightful  occasion  by  sleeping  in  the  station-house. 
The  affair  was  one  that  will  long  be  remembered  by  the 
persons  who  furnished  the  feast  and  can't  collect  their 
bills,  and  by  the  courteous  policemen  who  assisted  at 
the  denouement. 

Here  Jenkins's  account  ends.  What  could  be  more 
magnificent  ? 


n 


CHAPTER  LYIII. 

FASHIONABLE    WEDDINGS. 

The  great  social  sensation  of  this  City  is  a  wedding. 
Beyond  that,  fashion  does  not  look,  and  society  has  no 
ambition.  In  fashionable  circles  a  daughter  is  merely 
something  to  get  married.  From  the  moment  of  her 
birth  until  her  name  is  changed,  her  mother  and  femi- 
nine friends  give  most  of  their  serious  thought  to  her 
establishment  in  life,  which  means  the  securing  of  a 
husband  whose  income  is  large,  and  whose  allowance 
will  be  prodigal.  A  rich  and  liberal  husband  is  the  one 
thing  needful,  the  sole  object  desirable.  Having  him, 
all  is  had,  and  the  future  loses  its  significance. 

Marriage  means  much  in  all  cities ;  but  in  New-York 
it  means  every  thing.  A  stranger  can  form  no  idea  of 
the  overwhelming  importance  attached  to  wedlock  in 
the  Metropolis, — not  to  the  fitness  or  sympathy  of  the 
life-contracting  parties,  but  to  the  forms  and  ceremonies 
of  the  occasion,  the  bridesmaids,  the  surroundings,  the 
trousseau,  the  presents,  the  gilded  entourage. 

In  society,  no  one  asks,  "  Is  he  good-hearted  ?  Is 
he  chivalrous  ?  Is  he  intellectual  ?  Is  she  fine  ?  Is 
she  cultivated  ?"  Those  are  foolish,  not  to  say  imperti- 
nent, questions. 

The  essential  things  to  know  are  :  Has  she  style  ? 
To  what  set  does  she  belong  ?     What  are  her  diamonds 


i 


Fashionable   Weddings.  517 

worth  ?  What  time  can  his  horse  make  ?  What  club 
is  he  a  member  of?  How  much  money  is  he  worth  ? 
These  questions  having  been  answered'  satisfactorily, 
the  sacrifice  can  proceed. 

New-York  has  its  wedding-season  as  it  has  its  racing- 
season,  its  yachting-season,  its  picnic-season.  The 
wedding-season  is  usually  from  the  latter  part  of  Octo- 
ber to  the  close  of  May,  the  warm  months  being  deemed 
unfavorable  for  modish  nuptials.  Love  is  declared  to 
be  impatient;  but  love  has  so  little  to  do  with  most  of 
our  fashionable  weddings,  that  there  is  no  need  of 
haste. 

Such  weddings  are  really  what  the  French  would  call 
marriages  of  convenience,  though  they  are  found  in 
most  cases  to  be  the  very  opposite.  They  are  entered 
upon  with  all  the  deliberation  with  which  the  demon- 
stration of  a  theorem  is  accompanied.  They  are  cold- 
blooded calculations,  determinations  for  vulgar  display, 
meretricious  shows  from  beginning  to  end.  There  is 
slender  opportunity  or  desire  for  election  in  them. 
They  are  often  brought  about  by  others,  on  whom  the 
responsibility  of  the  inharmonious  and  unhappy  unions 
ought  to  rest;  managed,  directed,  and  accomplished  by 
and  through  ambitious  mothers  and  their  thoroughly 
disciplined  daughters. 

Men,  who  are  presumed  to  be  the  seekers  and  the  de- 
terminers of  their  matrimonial  destiny,  are  seldom  con- 
sulted. They  are  drawn  into  a  flirtation,  which  con- 
tinues so  long  that,  before  they  are  aware  of  their 
danger,  they  find  themselves  engaged  to  Margaret  or 
Matilda,  who  was  the  last  woman  they  thought  of 
taking  for  a  wife.  They  are  in  no  peril,  unless  any 
are  wealthy  or  believed  to  be  so. 


518  The   Great   Metropolis. 

The  proverb  says,  The  traveler  with  an  empty  purse 
laughs  at  robbers.  So  here  the  man  of  society  without 
income  is  safe  in  the  hands  of  match-makers.  For  him 
no  traps  are  laid;  no  schemes  are  formed.  He  enjoys 
the  reputation  of  a  not-marrying  man,  for  the  reason 
that  in  his  set  no  one  wants  to  marry  him.  He  is  a 
fortunate  fellow.  He  sees  the  spectacle  without  paying 
for  it ;  shares  the  pleasure,  and  escapes  the  pain. 

Women  of  a  certain  age  tend  to  match-making ;  and, 
when  they  have  daughters,  match-making  becomes  a 
religious  duty.  When  mamma's  eldest  girl  has  quitted 
school,  and  formally  "come  out" — an  event  usually 
celebrated  by  a  party,  to  which  all  eligible  young  men 
are  invited — the  first  thing  is  to  provide  her  with  a 
husband.  The  claims  of  the  men  entitled  to  considera- 
tion by  reason  of  their  incomes  are  discussed  by  mamma 
and  such  other  feminine  friends  as  have  daughters  to 
marry,  or  as  have  shown  proficiency  in  disposing  of 
them  to  the  highest  bidder.  If  the  requisite  knowledge 
be  lacking  to  determine  a  choice,  inquiry  is  made  of  com- 
petent authorities,  and  the  needed  information  is  at  last 

obtained. 

*  *. 

The  means  or  expectations  of  the  half-dozen  prospect- 
ive Benedicts  having  become  known  with  sufficient 
accuracy,  a  programme  is  arranged  for  their  entertain- 
ment. Margaret  or  Matilda  is  thrown  in  their  way,  and 
enjoined  to  render  herself  agreeable  to  any  of  the 
selected  victims.  She  must  humor  them;  be  coy  or 
bold  ;  melting  or  insensible  ;  romantic  or  reasonable, — 
as  any  one  of  them  demands. 

She  must  be  certain  to  ascertain  the  particular  vanity 
of  the  predestined  husbands,  and  flatter  that  to  the 
fullest. 


Fashionable   Weddings.  519 

If  Charles  ftxricies  himself  handsome,  he  must  be 
adroitly  told  of  his  beauty  every  day. 

If  William  prides  himself  upon  his  clothes,  his  taste 
in  dress  must  be  commended,  and  his  extravagance 
caressingly  censured. 

If  Robert  have  an  ambition  to  be  thought  profligate, 
mamma  must  lecture  him  on  his  wicked  ways,  but  so 
tenderly  that  he  will  feel  that  bad  morals  are  attractive ; 
while  the  daughter  must  deplore  the  fact  that  women 
all  love  rakes,  and  will  to  the  end  of  time. 

If  Joseph  plumes  himself  on  his  business  talent,  his 
views  must  be  shared  and  his  sagacity  applauded. 

If  George  has  a  passion  for  horses,  all  his  opinions 
about  the  turf  and  blooded  stock  must  be  listened  to 
with  patience. 

Margaret  or  Matilda  experiments  upon  each  of  the 
sex ;  and  he  who  reveals  most  susceptibility  is  marked 
and  doomed.  One  after  another  is  dropped  as  he  shows 
resistance  or  uftmanageableness.  He  who  is  resolved 
upon  is  surrounded,  attacked  on  every  side,  and  at  last 
compelled,  from  his  desperate  condition,  to  surrender. 
He  may  look  woeful  over  his  defeat;  but  while  he  is 
wonaering  at  his  novel  situation,  mamma  sweeps  in  and 
congratulates  him  upon  his  acceptance,  and  the  rare  good 
fortune  which  he  is  too  dazed  to  appreciate  as  he  ought. 
The  happy  day  is  fixed.  The  invitations  are  given  to 
the  wedding  on  Gimbrede's  latest  style  of  cards  ;  and  for 
many  weeks  Margaret  or  Matilda's  friends,  especially 
the  bridesmaids,  are  all  in  a  flutter  about  wdiat  they 
shall  wear,  and  how  they  shall  look — the  poles  of  anxi- 
ety in  a  fashionable  woman's  being.  Before  the  wed- 
ding, every  effort  is  made  to  get  paragraphs  into  one  of 
the  gossiping  journals,  reading,  ^^A  charming  Fifth  ave- 


520  The   Great   Metropolis. 

nue  belle  is  soon  to  be  led  to  the  altar  by  a  prominent 
member  of  the  stock  board;"  or,  "The  approaching  mar- 
riage of  a  Twenty-third  street  beauty,  who  w^as  greatly 
admired  in  Paris  last  season,  is-  creating  a  sensation  in 
fashionable  circles." 

The  wedding  takes  place  in  a  fashionable  church,  at 
noon — thjJrt  is  the  appointed  hour — and,  the  fact  having 
been  advertised  in  all  the  papers  that  will  print  it,  a 
vast  crowd  is  assembled  to  see  the  carriages  wdth  liv- 
eried servants  drive  up  and  deliver  their  human  freight 
of  perfumed  satin  and  orange-flowers,  black  broadcloth 
and  white  kids,  rare  diamonds  and  elaborate  hair-dress- 
ing, upon  the  carpeted  way  leading  to  the  altar. 

The  service  is  imposing  so  far  as  clothes  can  make  it; 
but  it  is  soon  over,  and  the  wedded  pair,  with  all  their 
showy  attendants,  go  back  to  the  carriages,  amid  con- 
gratulations that  seem  funereal,  and  return  to  the  bride's 
father's  house.  There  the  guests  are  bidden ;  delicate 
and  rich  food  is  eaten ;  costly  wine  flrank ;  common- 
place observations  exchanged ;  criticisms  passed  upon 
the  bride  and  bridegroom ;  presents  given  (it  often  hap- 
pens that  they  are  hired,  and  merely  exhibited  in  the 
drawing-room) ;  and  every  thing  done  that  can  be  to 
render  the  occasion  expensive  and  vulgarly  pretentious. 
All  persons  are  bound  to  say  the  bride  looks  beautiful 
and  interesting,  and  that  the  bridegroom  conducts  him- 
self admirably,  very  much  as  if  he  had  been  leading  a 
forlorn  hope  to  battle. 

After  the  proper  amount  of  inanity,  and  compliment, 
and  dissipation,  the  affair  is  over,  and  the  couple  go  off 
traveling,  as  if  they  had  done  something  they  were 
ashamed  of,  and  wanted  to  hide  themselves  until  their 
confusion  had  passed. 


Fashionable   Weddings.  521 

The  day  after  the  wedding,  the  gossiping  journals 
give  long  and  fulsome  descriptions  of  '^  the  event  in 
fashionable  society ;"  state  what  all  the  women  wore ; 
declare  that  they  all  looked  lovely,  and  were  perfectly 
fascinating ;  closing  with  a  minute  description  of  their 
wardrobe  which,  no  one  but  a  mantua-maker  can  under- 
stand. 

This  is  the  end  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fleetfast.  No  one 
cares  for  them  any  longer.  Even  the  council  of  mam- 
mas congratulates  itself  upon  having  made  another 
match,  and  turns  to  new  fields  of  commercial  enterprise. 
When  the  wedded  couple  have  passed  their  honey- 
moon— sometimes  before — Mr.  Fleetfast  returns  to  his 
billiards,  his  old  and  his  former  rapid  companions;  stays 
out  until  three  or  four  in  the  morning;  comes  home 
with  a  limber  right-leg  and  a  peculiar  tone  in  his  voice. 
Mrs.  Fleetfast  is  anxious  and  pale  for  awhile,  and  her 
eyes  look  red  and  swollen  at  breakfast.  But  she  soon 
learns  from  mamma  that  all  men  of  the  world  act  like 
her  husband,  and  that  there  is  no  need  of  a  heart-break 
over  what  is  to  be  expected.  So  the  delicate  little  lady 
puts  on  rouge ;  studies  the  art  of  flirtation ;  and  soon 
learns  it  so  well  that  her  acquaintances  believe  she  does 
not  care  a  fig  about  Mr.  Fleetfast's  irregularities. 

How  many  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fleetfasts  there  are  in  New- 
York  to-day,  and  will  be  any  day  in  the  future ! 

To  a  fashionable  wedding  three  things  are  essential — 
Delmonico's,  cash,  and  Isaac  H.  Brown.  The  last  is 
the  far-famed  sexton  of  Grace  Church,  who  for  twenty 
or  thirty  years  has  been  an  authority  in  society,  and 
claims  to  know  the  antecedents  of 'all  the  families  in  the 
City  that  have  any  pretense  to  gentility.  How  the 
fat  old  gabbler  ever  contrived  to  make  himself  a  power 


522  The    Great   Metropolis. 

Iq  fashionable  circles  is  past  finding  out ;  but  that  he 
has  done  so  there  is  no  doubt.  He  is  deemed  indispen- 
sable on  all  grand  occasions,  and  the  invitations  are 
always  intrusted  to  him.  He  revels  in  weddings,  and 
is^a  necessary  evil  to  the  whole  tribe  of  Jenkinses.  He 
believes  no  lady  of  the  town  can  be  properly  and  modish- 
ly  disposed  of  without  his  assistance,  and  he  is  officious, 
and  self-important,  and  garrulous  enough  to  please  an 
army  of  silly  women.  To  Brown,  Grace  Church  is 
merely  an  architectural  appendage  in  w^hich  he  airs  his 
flesh  on  Sunday,  and  punishes  his  spirit  on  w^eek-days. 

He  has  presided  at  thousands  of  ^veddings,  and  has 
lived  to  see  many  of  them  result  as  unhappily  as  the 
bitterest  cynic  could  desire.  If  he  w^ould  unfold  his 
observations,  he  w^ould  tell  sad  stories  of  diamond  w^ed- 
dings  that  proved  nothing  but  paste ;  of  sparkling  eyes, 
and  lips  with  soft  music  on  them,  w^hich  lost  their 
luster  through  care,  and  waxed  pale  through  wretch- 
edness untold. 

Fashionable  weddings  are  growing  more  fashionable, 
and  meretricious  every  year  in  New-York.  They  are 
mockeries  of  love,  satires  on  marriage,  insults  to  nature. 
They  who  make  them  assume  a  responsibility  that  is 
dreadful,  and  pay  the  penalty  violated  sympathies,  and 
false  vows,  and  starved  souls  sooner  or  later  exact  from 
all  that  give  hands  without  the  consecration  of  hearts. 


CHAPTER  LIX. 
CITY    MISSIONS. 

Aladdin's  palace  in  the  place  of  a  muck-heap  could 
hardly  be  a  greater  change  than  the  Five  Points  Mis- 
sion on  the  site  of  the  Old  Brewery,  for  many  years 
the  purple  plague-spot  that  revealed  the  fatal  moral  pes- 
tilence of  the  Sixth  Ward. 

The  Five  Points  is  bad  enough  now,  Heaven  knows, 
but  compared  to  what  it  was  twenty  years  ago,  when 
Murderer's  Alley  and  Coav  Bay  were  shuddering  hor- 
rors, and  wdien  subterranean  passages  communicated 
between  pits  of  debauchery  and  dens  of  crime,  it  is  an 
abode  of  purity  and  peace. 

The  Mission  is  a  plain  brick  building  in  Park  street, 
near  Baxter,  the  front  part  of  which  is  rented  to  tenants. 
It  contradicts  all  its  surroundings  ;  looks  as  if  it  had  got- 
ten there  by  mistake,  or  would  look  so,  if  it  were  not  kept 
in  countenance  by  its  sober,  comfortable  companion,  the 
House  of  Industry,  over  the  w^ay.  It  has  one  or  two 
offices,  several  school-rooms,  and  a  chapel,  all  plain,  but 
scrupulously  clean. 

The  Mission  was. the  pioneer  of  reform  in  that  repul- 
sive locality,  having  been  established  in  1850.  It  is 
under  the  direction  of  the  Methodists,  but  the  services 
there,  though  doctrinal,  are  not  sectarian.  Hev.  L.  M. 
Pease  was  the  founder  of  the  Mission,  which  was  at  first 


524  The   Great   Metropolis. 

deemed  a  quixotic  enterprise,  and  indeed  it  seemed 
such  ;  for  philanthropists  and  reformers  had  surrendered 
all  hope  of  introducing  light  into  that  benighted  region. 
In  a  few  months  an  astounding  change  was  apparent, 
and  such  beneficial  results  were  wrought  as  the  most 
sanguine  had  not  anticipated.  The  noble  effort  blos- 
somed with  good  fruit,  and  richly  repaid  those  who  had 
made  it.  After  two  years  the  reverend  superintendent 
retired,  and  founded  the  House  of  Industry.  Since 
then  both  have  continued  to  flourish,  and  produced  the 
most  beneficial  results. 

The  Mission  is  simply  a  school.  The  cnildren  there 
have  parents  usually — in  that  respect  they  are  different 
from  those  of  the  House  of  Industry  and  the  Boys'  and 
Girls'  Lodging  House — and  seem  on  the  whole  more  intel- 
ligent and  of  a  finer  organization  than  in  most  of  the 
charitable  institutions  in  the  City.  The  Mission  has 
eight  or  ten  teachers,  all  women,  paid  regular  salaries 
by  the  Board  of  Education,  and  five  orsix  hundred  pupils 
on  an  average,  who,  during  the  AVinter,  are  increased 
to  eight  hundred.  The  institution,  like  most  of  the 
municipal  charities,  is  supported  wholly  by  voluntary 
contributions.  Rev.  J.  N.  Shaffer  is  the  superintendent, 
and  gives  his  entire  time  to  its  management.  As  usual, 
all  the  children  are  of  foreign  parentage,  Irish  predomi- 
nating, and  Germans  next.  Every  Tuesday  evening 
and  Sunday,  interesting  religious  exercises  are  held  in  the 
chapel.  A  large  infant  school  is  taught  in  the  Mission, 
and  is  one  of  its  most  attractive  features.  Every  day 
visitors  go  there,  and  rarely  depart  without  seeing  and 
feeling  the  necessity  and  advantage  of  such  a  charity. 

The  House  of  Industry  is  fifteen  years  -old,  and 
has   long   been   under   the    superintendence   of  S.  B. 


City   Missions  525 

Halliday.  It  is  a  plain  building,  much  like  the  Mission ; 
has  an  office,  school-rooms,  dormitories,  a  chapel,  wash- 
ing rooms,  and  whatever  is  needful  for  the  purpose. 
About  two  hundred  children  are  generally  in  the 
House,  though  the  number  is  greater  in  cold  weather. 
During  the  past  year  1,075  children  were  admitted ; 
512  were  sent  to  situations;  179  returned  to  parents; 
58  sent  to  other  institutions ;  275  left  voluntarily ;  17 
expelled  for  misconduct;  19  ran  away,  and  5  died. 
The  average  attendance  was  413,  which  is  larger  than 
during  any  previous  year.  The  teachers  are  nine  in 
number,  and  very  energetic  and  conscientious  in  the  dis- 
charge of  their  duty.  The  Sunday-school  has  twenty 
teachers,  with  an  average  attendance  of  350  pupils. 
The  religious  progress  has  not  been  so  great  as  is  desir- 
able, but  still  it  is  encouraging.  The  number  of  meals 
given  during  the  year  was  385,502.  It  often  happens 
that  two  or  three  hundred  men  and  women  apply  daily 
for  food,  and  are  given  an  inexpensive  but  substantial 
dinner,  which  does  not  cost  more  than  four  cents  for 
each  person. 

Many  thousand  garments  are  made  and  repaired  every 
year,  and  some  ten  thousand  articles  of  clothing  are 
given  to  the  children  and  out-door  poor.  The  shoe-shop 
is  excellently  managed,  hundreds  of  shoes  being  made 
wearable  from  old  ones  that  seem  entirely  worthless. 
The  nursery  usually  contains  twenty  to  twenty-five  lit- 
tle ones,  from  eighteen  months  to  six  years  of  age.  The 
difference  between  the  children  when  they  are  first 
received  and  after  they  have  been  there  a  short  time  is 
remarkable.  They  are  converted  from  squalid,  ragged, 
pallid  little  wretches  to  clean,  well-clad,  wholesome 
creatures.     Gradually  their  old,  sad,  hard  look  wears 


526  The   Great   Metropolis. 

away.  The  light  begins  to  dawn  in  their  faces,  as  if 
from  redeemed  souls. 

The  expenses  of  the  House  were,  for  the  year, 
$32,114.94,  and  the  donations  $33,568.27. 

The  Howard  Mission,  or  Home  for  Little  Wanderers, 
is  at  No.  40  New  Bowery.  Over  the  gateway  that  leads 
to  the  institution  is  the  name  of  the  Mission,  and  under 
it  are  the  words,  "  Homes  for  the  homeless,  and  bread 
for  the  hungry." 

The  Mission  is  under  the  direction  of  Rev.  W.  C. 
Van  Meter ;  has  large  and  well-ventilated  school-rooms 
and  chapels,  and  is  excellently  conducted.  It  is  regu- 
larly incorporated  ;  not  sectarian ;  never  turns  a  child 
from  its  doors,  and  is  entirely  sustained  by  voluntary 
contributions,  receiving  no  aid  from  the  Legislature, 
City,  or  School  Fund.  In  six  years  it  received  7,581 
children,  and  the  number  taught,  fed  and  clothed  during 
a  month  is  about  500.  The  day  school  is  from  9  to  2, 
and  the  several  exercises  from  Ij  to  2  o'clock.  Prayer 
meetings  are  held  every  Tuesday  evening,  and  regular 
devotional  exercises  on  Sunday. 

The  Howard  Mission  is  one  of  the  best  of  our  chari- 
ties, and  is  an  object  of  curiosity  and  interest  to  many 
strangers  and  citizens.  The  little  wanderers  are  very 
kindly  and  even  tenderly  treated,  and  no  one  who  visits 
them  often  can  fail  to  be  concerned  in  their  develop- 
ment— physical,  mental,  and  moral.  They  are  very  sen- 
sitive to  kindness,  and  show,  as  all  animated  nature 
does,  that  love  is  the  best  teacher  and  the  truest  reK- 
gion. 

The  history  of  each  one  of  the  children  is  known  by 
the  teachers,  and  if  published  would  show  the  source  of 
most  of  our  social  evils.     The  little  creatures  are  suffer- 


City  Missions.  527 

ing  for  the  sins  of  their  ancestors,  and  the  chief  sin  is 
intemperance.  From  intemperance  come  nearly  all  the 
others — idleness,  dishonesty,  incontinence,  selfishness, 
and  brutality,  and  with  them  theft,  violence,  murder, 
and  every  other  species  of  crime.  Hardly  one  of  the 
little  wanderers  and  outcasts  that  has  not,  or  had  not, 
drunken  parents.  Generally  the  father  is  dissipated  ; 
often  both  the  father  and  mother. 

I  have  heard  the  antecedents  of  the  children  related. 
One  had  a  father  and  a  mother  who  probably  inherited 
their  thirst  for  liquor  from  their  parents.  The  father 
died  of  delirium  tremens  ;  the  mother  fell  from  the  win- 
dow of  a  tenement  and  broke  her  neck.  A  second  was 
found  nearly  naked  in  the  street,  where  it  had  been  left 
to  die  of  exposure.  A  third  had  a  father  who  murdered 
his  wife,  and  was  executed  for  the  crime.  A  fourth  was 
rescued  from  the  flames  of  a  building  fired  by  a  drunken 
maniac.  A  fifth  was  left  an  orphan  by  the  death  of  its 
mother  from  typhus,  and  the  suicide  of  its  father  while 
mad  with  delirium  tremens.  A  sixth  has  parents,  but 
they  are  always  on  Blackwell's  Island  or  at  Sing  Sing, 
and  have  no  more  care  or  thought  of  their  wretched 
offspring  than  if  they  had  never  been  born.  A  seventh 
has  a  decrepit  mother  in  the  hospital,  and  had  a  father 
who  was  shot  in  a  Water  street  brawl. 

Everywhere  the  same  story  is  told.  The  trail  of  the 
rum  shop  is  over  them  all.  No  wonder  persons,  con- 
scientious and  philanthropic,  favor  compulsory  measures 
for  the  abolition  of  intemperance.  It  is  the  crying 
curse;  the  besetting'  sin  of  this  and  every  other  land. 
Destroy  intemperance,  and  the  World  would  be  more 
than  half  reformed. 


CHAPTEE  LX. 

THE    TOMBS 

Everybody  in  the  Metropolis  has  seen  the  Tombs, 
as  the  City  Prison  is  always  called  here,  but  few  have 
been  inside  of  its  gloomy  walls ;  nor  would  they  like  to 
be,  if  they  knew  what  wretches  and  wretchedness  it 
contained. 

The  Tombs  occupies  one  square,  or  block,  bounded 
on  the  east  and  w^est  by  Centre  and  Elm,  and  nortn 
and  south  by  Leonard  and  Franklin  streets.  It  w^as 
built  about  thirty  years  ago,  of  gray  granite,  in  the 
Egyptian  style  of  architecture,  at  a  cost  of  $250,000 ; 
and  it  is  safe  to  say  no  such  amount  of  money  was  ever 
expended  for  a  more  dolorous  purpose.  Its  gloomy 
semblance  gave  it  the  name  it  still  bears,  and  will  bear 
while  one  block  of  the  dingy  stone  stands  upon 
another. 

When  the  prison  was  built,  it  was  considered  a 
remarkable  structure, — which,  indeed,  it  is ;  and,  for 
years,  it  w^as  the  architectural  wonder  of  the  east  side 
of  the  town.  The  vicinity  of  the  Tombs  has  little  to 
boast  of  now  in  the  way  either  of  cleanliness  or  beauty  ; 
but,  at  the  time  of  its  erection,  squalor  and  sin  reigned 
supreme  thereabout,  and  the  prison  might  well  be  con- 
sidered the  tomb  of  purity,  order,  peace,  and  law. 

The  gray,  begrimed  building  one   sees   in    passing 


The   Tombs.  529 

through  the  streets  is  merely  the  walls  of  the  prison, 
inclosing  a  quadrangle  full  of  narrow,  ill-ventilated, 
dismal  cells,  arranged  in  rows  one  above  another,  and 
reached  by  iron  steps  and  galleries.  There  are  three 
different  departments  in  the  Tombs, — one  for  boys, 
another  for  men,  and  a  third  for  women  ;  and  the  three 
classes  are  kept  carefully  apart.  They  are  all  misera- 
ble enough,  Heaven  knows  !  and  no  sympathetic  person 
who  goes  there  can  withhold  his  pity  from  them,  how- 
ever hard,  or  vicious,  or  degraded  they  may  be. 

The  Tombs  is  a  prison  of  detention,  for  the  most 
part;  persons  being  confined  there  for  trial,  and  sen- 
tenced to  Blackwell's  Island  or  Sing  Sing  when 
convicted.  The  prisoners  are  locked  up  in  their  cells 
during  the  night  and  much  of  the  day^  but  are  permit- 
ted to  take  exercise,  and  go  through  the  farce  of  getting 
^'  fresh  air,"  in  the  galleries  at  certain  hours.  "  Fresh 
air,"  indeed  !  The  atmosphere'  of  the  Tombs  is  as 
vicious  materially  as  it  is  morally.  It  is  foul,  even 
poisonous,  and  enough  to  breed  a  pestilence.  The 
Board  of  Health  long  ago  declared  the  prison  a 
nuisance,  and  all  who  visit  it  think  it  should  be  abated, 
as  such.  But  the  voice  of  justice  and  reform  is  seldom 
obeyed  in  large  cities,  where  selfishness  is  the  end  and 
corruption  is  the  rule. 

The  inmates  vary  in  number  with  the  season  and  the 
condition  of  business.  When  the  weather  is  cold  and 
trade  is  stagnant,  there  are  more  than  during  the  warm 
months  and  periods  of  activity ;  showing  that  crime  is 
the  result  of  temptation  and  necessity.  Usually,  the 
Tombs  has  about  400  inmates,  three-quarters  of  whom 
are  men.  Most  of  them  are  hardened  and  degraded 
creatures,  who  have  been  there,  at  the  Island,  and  in 

34 


530  The    Great   Metropolis. 

the  penitentiary,  again  and  again.  They  have  lost  all 
sense  of  shame ;  for  they  feel  they  are  outcasts ;  that 
no  one  cares  for  them;  that  no  one  will  help  them  to 
reform.  They  come  into  contact  only  with  their  own 
fallen  kind,  and  with  policemen  who  are  as  callous  in 
their  way  as  the  prisoners  are  in  theirs. 

If  we  could  but  look  into  the  hearts  of  criminals, 
could  fathom  the  mysteries  of  vice,  would  we  not  find 
that  the  divorce  of  the  erring  from  human  charity,  their 
despair  of  human  forgiveness  and  love,  was  the  cause 
of  most  of  their  so-called  sins  ? 

Not  a  few  of  the .  prisoners  are  slight  offenders, 
novices  in  vice, — men  who  have  become  intoxicated, 
perhaps  for  the  first  time,  and  who  awake  from  a  mad 
delirium  to  mortification  and  bitter  repentance  in  the 
ghastly  cells  of  the  Tombs. 

Men  of  influence,  and  wealth,  and  position,  have  been 
there  more  than  once,  particularly  strangers,  who  come 
to  the  City  to  see  its  sights,  and,  after  drinking  and 
dissipating,  have  been  borne  down  by  the  fiery  draughts 
they  had  swallowed.  Printers  and  reporters,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  are  occasionally  found  at  the  Tombs, 
ending  a  spree  there  most  gloomily,  when  they  set 
out  for  a  night  of  gayety  and  pleasure.  m 

The  Tombs  has  a  history,  and  a  very  sad  one.  It  ' 
has  seen  tragedies  whose  horrors  thrilled  through  the 
land,  and  were  repeated  with  pale  lips  for  many 
months,  and  are  now  remembered  only  as  dim  traditions. 
Men  have  spent  terrible  days  and  nights  there,  with 
death,  for  which  they  were  wholly  unprepared,  staring 
them  in  the  face  from  the  gallows'  beam.  What  ghostly 
visions  of  murdered  victims  have  trooped  through  those 
cells  !     What  agony  and  terror  have  wrung  their  souls  I 


The   Tombs.  531 

Men  have  destroyed  themselves  within  those  pitiless 
walls ;  and  eternal  farewells  have  been  taken  from 
friends,  and  wives,  and  mistresses,  who  loved  none 
the  less  for  the  great  crimes  that  had  extinguished 
the  sympathy  of  outraged  society. 

Col.  Monroe  Edwards,  the  famous  forger, — scarcely 
remembered  by  this  generation, — occupied  one  of  the 
cells.  Cancemi,  the  assassin;  Mrs.  Burdell-Cunning- 
ham ;  Baker,  the  murderer  of  "  Bill "  Poole, — were  there. 
And  Colt,  who  slew  Adams  the  printer,  and  afterward 
stabbed  himself  to  the  heart,  was  found  stiff  and  stark 
on  the  very  morning  named  for  his  execution.  The 
story  of  the  mysterious  murder — the  sending  of  the 
box  containing  the  body  to  New  Orleans,  its  discovery, 
the  arrest,  the  exciting  trial,  the  effort  of  influential 
friends  to  save  him,  the  romantic  attachment  of  his 
mistress,  and  then  the  final  cheating  of  the  gallows — 
w^as  long  remembered,  with  all  the  wild  rumors  of  his 
escape  by  the  substitution  of  another  body  for  his,  and 
his  living  in  prosperity  in  Europe. 

One  might  write  a  volume  of  the  tragedies  of  the 
Tombs,  and  to-day  they  would  be  almost  as  fresh  as  when 
they  first  startled  the  City  and  the  country  at  large. 

The  gallows  has  stood  a  score  of  times  within  the 
walls  of  the  Tombs,  and  the  timbers  of  which  it  is  com- 
posed are  carefully  laid  by,  to  be  put  up  whenever  the 
shuddering  spectacle  of  judicial  murder  shall  again  be 
presented.  Who,  that  has  heard  the  hollow  echoes  of 
gallows-making,  on  some  sepulchral  morning  before  sun- 
rise, will  ever  forget  the  awful  sound  ?  What  morbid 
curiosity  is  always  felt  by  the  depraved  to  witness 
executions !  How  all  the  house-tops  in  the  gloomy 
square  have  been  blackened^  and  will  be  blackened  once 


532  The   Great   Metropolis. 

more  when  some  trembling  wretch  is  swung  off  into 
eternity  ! 

The  courts  held  in  the  Tombs  are  the  police  court, 
presided  over  by  Justice  Dowling,an  officer  worthy  of  the 
revolting  place  ;  and  the  special  sessions,  where  petty 
offenses  in  the  eyes  of  the  law  are  tried,  and  humanity 
held  up  to  merciless  judgment. 

The  atmosphere  of  police  courts  is  always  sickening, 
and  that  of  the  Tombs  unusually  so.  I  feel  contami- 
nated whenever  I  enter  Bowling's  tribunal.  Every  thing 
seems  so  hard,  so  vulgar,  so  pitiless,  that  I  long  for  the 
sunshine  of  Broadway,  the  fresh  breeze  of  the  parks,  as 
if  I  had  been  deprived  of  them  for  months.  The  pohce 
strike  me  as  unpleasantly  as  the  criminals ;  for  familiar- 
ity has  made  them  callous,  and  they  laugh  and  jeer  at 
degradation  which  is  revolting,  and  at  misery  which  is 
too  deep  for  tears. 

The  tragedies  of  the  wretched  creatures  that  have 
fallen  into  their  hands,  are  broad  farces  to  them.  The 
judge  sentences  the  culprits  as  he  would  call  off  a  list  of 
articles  at  an  auction.  The  officers  of  the  law  give  evi- 
dence under  oath  as  they  relate  a  coarse  story  at  head- 
quarters. Crime  is  a  matter  of  course — punishment  an 
inevitable  duty.  All  wickedness  and  infamy  belong  to 
the  daily  routine,  and  are  neither  to  be  censured  nor 
deplored. 

Oh,  the  pain  and  shame  of  the  police  court !  It  is  a 
tribunal  without  dignity,  and  a  sentence  without  sym- 
pathy. It  seems  to  rob  justice  of  all  beauty  by  its 
coarseness,  and  to  strike  humanity  into  the  dust  with  a 
brutal  hand.  It  has  its  uses,  I  suppose,  but  they  are 
the  uses  of  adversity  deprived  of  aspiration,  and  cut  off 
from  the  hope  of  improvement. 


The   Tombs.  533 

I  have  gone  into  the  Tombs  and  talked  with  the  pris- 
oners, and  I  have  known  others  to  do  so.  If  you  ai"e 
gentle  and  sympathetic,  they  respect  you  at  once ;  and 
no  wonder,  for  they  have  no  reason  to  look  for  kind- 
ness, from  their  past  experience.  But  even  they  will 
show  the  better  side  that  every  mortal  has,  if  you  will 
persevere,  and  prove  to  them  you  are  their  friend. 
Charity  not  only  covers  a  multitude  of  sins  ;  it  turns 
them  back  to  the  source  of  good  intentions,  and  enables 
us  to  judge  as  we  would  be  judged. 

The  men  are  not  so  pitiable  as  the  boys  and  women ; 
for  these  might  be  reformed  by  proper  treatment. 
But,  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  Tombs,  reformation  seems 
impossible.  The  grim,  hard  stone  of  the  building  ap- 
pears to  mock  every  effort  to  change  ;  its  dreary  echoes 
to  laugh  at  every  sigh,  or  moan,  or  prayer. 

The  Tombs  !  It  is  well  named.  Who  so  christened  it, 
was  wiser  and  bitterer  than  he  knew.  In  it  are  swal- 
lowed up  the  best  purposes  and  resolves ;  and  its  pon- 
derous architecture  crushes  any  remaining  instinct  to 
good. 

When  I  pass  it  under  the  lightness  of  noon,  I  feel  a 
shadow  in  my  way ;  and  even  the  purity  of  the  moon 
seems  stained  when  its  beams  fall  upon  such  hideous 
ugliness. 

Sunday,  at  the  Tombs,  is  the  grand  gala  day  of  trans- 
gression and  judgment.  On  that  day  the  police  court 
presents  a  more  revolting  spectacle  than  on  any  other 
day  of  the  week;.,  for  the  crowd  is  greater,  and  the 
offenses  are  more  repulsive.  Saturday  has  long  been 
known  as  the  drunkards'  night ;  for  then  that  vast  class 
of  people  in  great  cities  who  live  from  hand  to  mouth, — 
from  the  rum-shop  to  the  poor-house,  it  might  be  stated — ■ 


534  The   Great   Metropolis. 

who  seek  relaxation  from  exhausting  toil  in  degrading 
dissipation, — give  loose  to  their  passions,  and  fall  into 
the  clutches  of  the  police. 

Often  a  hundred  and  more  cases  of  drunkenness,  row- 
dyism, fighting,  and  wife-beating,  are  disposed  of  on 
Sunday  morning  by  Justice  Dowling,  at  the  rate  of  one 
or  two  per  minute.  The  blackened  and  bloodshot  eyes, 
bloody  and  bloated  faces,  ragged  and  quivering  forms, 
repulsive  features,  mis-shapen  by  generations  of  wrong- 
doing, will  haunt  you  long  after  your  visit  to  the  court. 

Keligious  exercises  are  held  there,  too.  Religion  in 
such  a  place  is  like  peace  in  Pandemonium.  The  exer- 
cises are  a  ghastly  satire  on  the  spirit  of  Christianity  ; 
for,  while  the  form  is  observed,  the  soul  of  humanity  is 
crushed.  The  Sisters  of  Charity — truly  such  at  all 
times — have  charge  of  the  boys  and  women,  and,  by 
their  earnestness,  lend  a  little  halo  to  the  place  ;  but  the 
Protestant  worship,  progressing  amid  the  trials,  and 
intermingling  with  clamor  and  coarseness,  seems  to 
deepen  the  shadow  of  the  ever-shadowed  Tombs. 


I 


CHAPTEE  LXI. 

THE    MIDNIGHT    MISSION. 

Society  seems  from  its  organization  to  have  taught 
that  all  sins  are  pardonable  in  men,  and  that  all  errors 
but  one  may  be  forgiven  in  women.  Inhuman  and  bane- 
ful as  this  belief  has  been,  it  has  been  practically  held, 
and  has,  generation  after  generation,  removed  fallen 
women  from  the  possibility  of  reform. 

Whatever  else  this  age  may  be,  it  is  certainly  an  age 
of  humanity,  and  for  it  was  fitly  reserved  the  dealing 
with  the  great  social  problem  in  a  thoroughly  human 
way.  The  great  reformatory  movement  for  women, 
most  justly  styled  unfortunate,  was  originated  by  Mrs. 
Emma  Sheppard,  of  Frome,  England,  who  began  her 
great  and  good  work  in  1855.  She  first  visited  her 
erring  sisters  in  what  was  known  as  the  "  black  ward" 
of  the  work-house;  afterward  in  the  penitentiaries  of 
Bath,  Cleves  and  Pentonville,  and  labored  constantly 
and  conscientiously  for  the  reclamation  of  those  whom 
society  had  cast  out,  and  even  the  Church  would  not 
receive. 

Four  years  she  devoted  to  the  excellent  work  with 
excellent  results,  and  then  had  the  courage  to  open  her 
own  home  to  the  shelter  and  protection  of  the  poor 
pariahs.  Her  undertaking  produced  good  fruit,  and  in 
the  winter  of  1860  the  "midnight  meeting  movement" 


536  The  Great   Metropolis. 

was  begun.     It  was   soon  extended  to  other  cities  of 
Great  Britain,  and  to  this  country  and  City  in  1867. 

The  founders  of  the  Midnight  Mission  here  were  ten 
in  number,  seven  men  and  three  women,  representing 
commerce,  medicine,  and  the  pulpit,  and  had  their  first 
regular  meeting  on  the  first  of  February,  in  rooms  at  the 
corner  of  Twelfth  street  and  Broadway.  Public  opinion, 
always  slow  and  rarely  enlightened,  was  opposed  to  the 
movement,  and  some  of  the  churches  were  bitter  in  their 
hostility,  repeating  the  old  cant  that  such  a  charity 
would  do  more  harm  than  good ;  that  it  was  not  prac- 
ticable, and  that  sympathy  with  lewdness  would  increase 
it  by  making  it  attractive. 

Money  was  wanting,  too ;  but  the  members  of  the 
Mission  were  so  resolute,  so  active,  that  the  work  ad- 
vanced in  spite  of  drawbacks,  and  steadily  gained  the 
confidence  of  the  community.  At  the  end  of  the  first 
year  the  members  were  quadrupled,  and  the  rooms  in 
Broadway  were  found  too  small.  The  Mission  removed 
to  a  large  dwelling.  No.  23  Amity  street,  where  it  still 
remains.  The  new  house  is  plain,  but  very  neat  and 
comfortable,  and  under  the  direction  of  a  kind  and  en- 
tirely sympathetic  woman. 

Two  nights  of  every  week — Thursday  and  Friday — 
are  devoted  to  the  cause  which  is  advertised  by  printed 
cards  that  read  : —  • 

'^  The  Committee  of  the  Midnight  Mission  will  be 
happy  to  see  you  at  tea  at  10  o'clock  on  any  Friday 
evening  at  23  Amity  street,  between  Greene  and  Mer- 
cer. Booms  open  every  day,  from  2  to  4  p.  M.,  for 
private  conversation  and  friendly  advice." 

The  cards  are  distributed  among  the  unfortunate 
women  wherever  found,  in  the  street,  at  the  dance-houses, 


The   Midnight   Mission.  537 

at  the  bagnios.  On  the  nights  named  men  of  years, 
benevolence,  and  high  social  standing,  go  out  into  the 
highways  and  byways  of  the  City,  and  gently  but  earn- 
estly invite  the  poor  wanderers  to  the  Mission.  They 
are  not  often  rebuffed,  for  the  quick  instincts  of  the 
women  reveals  to  them  at  once  that  the  good  rtien  are 
really  their  friends.  They  do  not  tire  of  their  under- 
taking. No  ill  temper,  no  insult  repels  them.  They 
are  always  gentle,  tender,  entreating,  and  prove  that  to 
the  expression  of  genuine  sympathy  the  sternest  nature 
yields. 

The  evening  receptions  are  on  Friday.  The  noble 
women  who  belong  to  the  Mission  prepare  simple  refresh- 
ments, and  receive  the  unfortunates  who  come  volun- 
tarily, or  whom  the  members  find  in  their  search.  The 
poor  girls  are  usually  very  shy  and  timid  at  first,  but 
they  soon  gain  confidence  from  the  loving  kindness  of 
the  ladies  of  the  committee.  They  are  encouraged  to 
unburden  their  breasts,  to  tell  their  sad  stories,  and  to 
enter  upon  a  new^  path  of  life.  After  refreshments  come 
devotional  exercises,  which  close  wdth  a  hymn  and 
prayer,  in  which  all  are  urged  to  take  part.  No  one, 
whatever  his  rehgious  opinions,  can  attend  the  recep- 
tions without  being  touched  by  what  he  sees  and  hears 
there.  He  can  not  fail  to.  perceive  the  work  is  good,  and 
that  such  a  work  is  blessed  indeed. 

The  unfortunates  who  visit  the  Mission  are  from  six- 
teen to  twenty -five  years  of  age,  and  the  number  is  di- 
vided about  equally  between  foreigners  and  Americans. 
Many  of  them  are  pretty,  but  few  are  educated. 

The  greater  part  of  the  Americans  are  from  the 
country,  having  fallen  victims  to  the  temptations  and 
wickedness  of  the  great  City. 


538  The   Great   Metropolis. 

Nearly  all  make  the  same  sad  confession.  They  have 
sinned  from  love — strange  paradox  ! — having  been  be- 
trayed by  the  man  they  trusted,  and  having  taken  one 
false  step,  they  could  not  retrace  it.  Once  fallen,  the 
brand  of  shame  was  fixed  upon  their  brow,  and  they 
were  sent  forth  to  the  avoidance  and  the  scorn  of  the 
World.  Many  of  them  are  afraid  to  return  to  their 
relatives  or  friends  after  their  seduction,  and  many  are 
spurned  as  loathsome  creatures  by  those  who,  in  the 
crisis  of  their  lives,  should  stand  between  them  and 
their  fighting  souls.  Having  placed  their  foot  upon  the 
plowshare,  they  can  hardly  escape  the  terrible  ordeal. 
The  way  of  their  downward  course  is  deftly  paved. 
They  steadily  descend,  as  by  a  winding  staircase,  and 
every  year,  and  month,  and  week,  and  day,  they  look 
back  to  less  loathsome  heights  they  never  can  regain. 

''  God  help  us  !"  they  may  well  say ;  for  Man  abandons 
them  to  their  remorseless  fate.  The  houses  of  prostitu- 
tion are  regularly  graded.  No  sooner  does  one  expel 
them  than  another  takes  thei^  up.  They  are  in  a  great 
moral  maelstrom.  In  vain  they  struggle  :  in  vain  they 
stretch  forth  their  pleading  hands.  Round,  round,  down, 
down  they  go  until  they  are  swallowed  up  in  death,  and 
not  even  Heaven  seems  to  hear  their  despairing  cry. 

Nearly  every  one  of  the  poor  girls  says  she  had  lost 
all  hope ;  that  she  had  no  faith  in  the  sympathy  or  pity 
of  her  kind  ;  that  the  humanity  of  the  Mission  surprises 
and  bewilders  her. 

When  we  remember  that  there  are  twenty  to  twenty- 
five  thousand  courtesans  in  New-York,  the  capacity 
for  good  there  is  in  such  an  organization  as  the  Mid- 
night Mission  can  easily  be  perceived.  If  they  fail  to 
reform,  it  is  because  they  don't  know  how.     They  stum- 


The   Midnight   Mission.  639 

ble  in  the  thick  darkness,  and  beg  in  vain  for  the  smallest 
glimmer  of  light. 

The  severe  censors  who  declare  that  fallen  women 
can't  and  won't  be  lifted  up  should  attend  the  receptions 
of  the  Mission.  During  the  exercises  many  a  poor  girl 
lives  her  sad  life  over  again ;  becomes  an  innocent  child 
once  more  ;  and  as  the  hymns  and  prayers  bring  back 
to  her  memory  the  days  of  happiness  and  home,  her  lip 
trembles  ;  her  eye  moistens  ;  and  all  her  soul  bursts  out 
at  last  in  an  agony  of  sacred  and  repentant  tears.  Not 
long  since  one  of  the  poor  outcasts,  who  w^ent  to  the 
Mission  merely  from  curiosity,  was  so  overcome  by  the 
sympathy  expressed  for  her  that  in  the  midst  of  a  hymn 
she  broke  down  completely.  ''  What  a  load  is  lifted 
from  my  bosom  !''  she  sobbed  out.  '^  My  heart  feels 
so  light.  It  seems  as  if  I  could  go  up.  I  haven't  been 
so  happy  since  I  \vas  at  home.  I'm  so  happy  I  wish  I 
could  die  now.  You're  all  so  good  to  me.  I  didn't  be- 
lieve any  one  could  be  but  my  dear  mother.  She  is  dead, 
and  I've  often  been  glad,  for  she  loved  me  so,  and  I 
didn't  w^ant  her  to  know^  w^hat  a  bad  girl  I  was.  But  now^ 
I  wdsh  she  was  alive  to  see  that  I've  changed,  and  won't 
do  wrong  any  more." 

The  repentant  girl  kept  her  word.  She  remained  at 
the  Mission  for  some  weeks  and  obtained  a  situation 
through  the  Committee  ;  studied  hard,  and,  being  natu- 
rally intelligent,  is  now  teaching  a  village  school  in  New- 
England  ;  is  a  church  member ;  often  w^rites  to  the  good 
women  here ;  says  she  is  happy  all  the  day  long,  and 
shall  ever  be  grateful  to  them  for  preserving  her  from 
utter  ruin. 

Such  an  example,  were  it  single,  should  encourage 
the  good  work,  and  strengthen  the  hands  and  hearts  of 


540  The   Great   Metropolis. 

those  engaged  in  the  enterprise.  But  the  example  is 
one  of  many,  and  proves  that  the  women  who  have  been 
driven  to  prostitution  can  be  returned  to  purity,  be  made 
useful,  noble.  Christian. 

The  report  of  the  first  year  shows  that  during  the 
twelve  months  past  eight  hundred  women  attended  the 
Friday  evening  receptions ;  that  of  the  number  seventy- 
seven  were  induced  to  remain  (the  Mission  is  now  fitted 
up  for  a  temporary  home),  and  that  forty-eight  of  the 
seventy-seven  have  thoroughly  reformed.  Of  those  who 
remained  in  the  Mission  fourteen  have  found  virtuous 
homes  ;  seven  have  been  returned  to  their  friends  ;  eight 
placed  in  charitable  institutions  ;  nine  have  been  lost 
sight  of;  twenty-tvv^o  have  gone  back  to  their  old  life  of 
shame,  and  seventeen  were  in  the  Mission  House  at  the 
close  of  the  year. 

^  The  expense  of  the  Mission,  supported  from  voluntary 
contributions,  w^as  $50,000  during  the  year — about  $200 
for  each  woman  saved.  Surely,  salvation  is  cheap  at  so 
small  a  price.  The  Mission  has  no  Utopian  ideas ;  has 
no  hope  of  destroying  prostitution,  or  working  a  general 
reform  among  the  unfortunate.  It  directs  all  its  efforts 
toward  individuals ;  opens  the  way  of  return  to  those 
who  have  wandered;  is  the  means  of  showing  to  the 
miserable  class  that  there  are  good  souls  in  the  World 
who  will  take  them  by  the  hand  and  assist  them  to  live 
virtuous  lives. 

The  women  who  visit  the  Mission  are  always  invited 
to  stay.  Some  remain  over  night  only;  others  for  days 
and  weeks.  Besides  assisting  in  household  duties,  they 
are  provided  with  sewing,  and  receive  half  the  proceeds. 
Six  hours  of  the  day  are  occupied  in  reading,  talking, 
and  in  innocent  recreation,  of  which  music  forms  a  part. 


The  Midnight  Mission.  541 

Many  of  the  Magdalens  are  very  intelligent,  and  fitted 
for  useful  positions  in  life.  Though  the  Mission  is  in- 
tended only  as  a  temporary  asylum,  no  one  of  the  in- 
mates is  ever  asked  to  depart.  On  the  contrary,  all  are 
encouraged  to  remain  as  long  as  they  like.  i 

The  charity  is  most  noble,  and  very  effective  withal. 
While  the  Mission  continues  it  will  be  a  beacon-light  to 
those  wdio  deem  themselves  lost.  It  will  be  a  bridge 
connecting  virtue  with  unchastity,  over  which  those  who 
wish  can  pass  from  darkness  to  light,  from  wretchedness 
and  sin  to  peace  and  purity.  It  is  doing  what  He  did 
who  sat  beside  the  fallen  woman  at  the  well  of  Samaria, 
and  talked  to  her  lovingly  and  forgivingly  of  her  duty 
and  her  destiny. 


CHAPTEE  LXII. 
THE     ASSOCIATION     FOR     THE     POOR. 

One  of  the  wisest,  best-managed,  and  most  practical 
charities  in  the  City  is  the  Association  for  Improving 
the  Condition  of  the  Poor,  of  which  James  Brown,  the 
eminent  banker,  is  President,  and  Robert  B.  Minturn, 
the  late  distinguished  merchant,  was  Treasurer.  Its  other 
officers,  its  advisory  committees  and  visitors,  are  among 
our  best  citizens,  who  have  for  years  been  laboring  for 
the  purpose  that  the  name  of  the  organization  indicates. 

The  Association  Avas  organized  in  1843,  and  incorpor- 
ated in  1848,  and  each  year  has  made  it  more  useful, 
and  increased  the  field  of  its  operations.  Every  person 
W'ho  becomes  an  annual  subscriber,  a  member  of  an 
advisory  committee,  or  visitor,  shall  be  a  member  of  the 
Society,  which  is  under  the  control  of  a  Board  of 
Managers.  Nine  members  constitute  a  quorum  at  any 
of  the  meetings,  which  are  held  regularly  every  month 
— July  and  August  excepted — or  specially  whenever 
deemed  necessary.  The  City  is  divided  into  twenty- 
two  districts,  each  ward  forming  a  district,  and  the 
districts  are  divided  into  sections.  Each  district  has 
an  advisory  committee,  consisting  of  five  members,  and 
each  section  a  visitor. 

The  rules  for  the  government  of  the  Association  are 
as  follows  : — 


The   Association   for   the   Poor.  543 

To  regard  each  applicant  for  relief  as  entitled  to 
charity,  until  a  careful  examination  proves  the  contrary. 

To  give  relief  only  after  a  personal  investigation  of 
each  case,  by  visitation  and  inquiry. 

To  relieve  no  one  except  through  the  Visitor  of  the 
Section  in  which  the  applicant  lives. 

To  give  necessary  articles,  and  only  what  is  imme- 
diately necessary. 

To  give  only  in  small  quantities,  and  in  proportion  to 
immediate  need ;  and  of  coarser  quality  than  might  be 
procured  by  labor,  except  in  cases  of  sickness. 

To  give  assistance  at  the  right  moment ;  not  to  pro- 
long it  beyond  the  duration  of  the  necessity  which  calls 
for  it ;  but  to  extend,  restrict,  and  modify  relief  accord- 
ing to  that  necessity. 

To  require  of  each  beneficiary  abstinence  from  intoxi- 
cating hquors  as  a  drink  ;  of  such  as  have  young  children 
of  a  proper  age,  that  they  may  be  kept  at  school,  unless 
unavoidable  circumstances  prevent  it;  and  to  apprentice 
those  of  suitable  years  to  some  trade,  or  send  them  to 
service.  The  design  being  to  make  the  poor  a  party  to 
their  own  improvement  and  elevation,  the  willful  viola- 
tion or  disregard  of  these  rules  shall  debar  them  from 
further  relief. 

To  give  no  relief  to  recent  immigrants  having  claims  on 
the  Commissioners  of  Emigration,  except,  in  urgent  cases, 
for  two  or  three  days,  or  until  that  Department  can  be 
informed  of  such  cases,  when  the  responsibility  of  this 
Association  toward  them  shall  cease. 

To  give  no  aid  to  persons  who,  from  infirmity,  imbe- 
cility, old  age,  or  any  other  cause,  are  likely  to  continue 
unable  to  earn  their  own  support,  and  consequently  to 
be  permanently  dependent,  except  in  extreme  cases  for 


544  The    Great   Metropolis. 

two  or  three  days,  or  until  they  can  be  referred  to  the 
Commissioners  of  Charity. 

To  discontinue  relief  to  all  who  manifest  a  disposition 
to  depend  on  alms,  rather  than  their  own  exertions,  for 
support,  and  whose  further  maintenance  would  be  in- 
compatible w^ith  their  good  and  the  objects  of  the  Insti- 
tution. 

The  late  census  shows  that  the  population  of  the 
City  consists  of  forty-one  nationalities,  representing 
every  quarter  of  the  Globe,  and  embracing,  necessarily, 
corresponding  varieties  of  race,  language,  color,  habits, 
temperament,  moral  character,  religions,  political  pro- 
clivities, and  occupations.  The  following  is  a  classifica- 
tion of  the  inhabitants  according  to  their  nativity,  as 
gathered  from  the  census  of  1865  : — 

American  born 407,814  or  56.85  per  cent. 

From  Ireland 161,834  or  22.21         " 

From  German  States 107,267  or  14.77         " 

From  England 19,699  or     2.71 

From  other  foreign  countries 80,772  or     8.46         " 

Total 726, 386  100 

The  foregoing  figures  show  the  aggregate  of  the  for- 
eign-born in  the  City  to  be  319,074,  or  43  15-100  per 
cent,  of  the  population.  The  statement  is  accepted, 
though  difficult  of  reconciliation  with  probability  or  fact; 
for,  as  early  as  1855,  the  ratio  of  the  foreign-born  was 
51  19-100  per  cent.,  and,  as  1,342,965  immigrants  landed 
at  this  port  during  the  ensuing  decennial  period,  it 
appears  questionable  that  their  number,  meanwhile, 
should  have  decreased  in  this  City  more  than  8  per  cent. 
Again,  according  to  the  census  of  1865,  the  native  voters 
were  51,500,  and  the  naturalized,  or  foreign-born  voters, 
77,475,  thus  giving  the  latter,  though  numerically  8 


The   Association   for   the   Poor.  545 

per  cent,  less  than  the  formerj  50  per  cent,  more  voters. 
As  most  of  the  poor  here  are  foreigners,  it  may  be 
well  to  state  that  the  native-born,  who  comprise  rather 
more  than  half  the  inhabitants,  give  about  twenty-three 
per  cent,  of  the  City  indigence  ;  the  foreign-born,  includ- 
ing those  aided  by  the  Commissioners  of  Emigration, 
amount  to  seventy-seven  per  cent.,  which  is  nearly  four 
imported  paupers  for  one  American.  Of  the  68,873 
persons  arrested  for  offenses  against  person  and  prop- 
erty, for  the  year  ending  October  31st,  1865,  45,837 
were  foreigners;  and  of  these  32,867  were  Irish,  and 
but  23,036 — white  and  black,  all  told — were  natives. 
Of  the  whole  number  arrested,  13,576  could  neither  read 
nor  w^rite.  Many  of  the  native-born  paupers  and  crimi- 
nals are  the  offspring  of  foreigners,  who  were  themselves 
paupers  and  criminals.  Hence  much  of  our  indigenous 
pauperism  and  crime  is  immediately  traceable  to  foreign 
parentage. 

Twenty-five  years  of  experience  have  tested  the  effi- 
cacy of  the  system  adopted  by  the  Association  in  bene- 
fiting the  poor.  Thousands  of  our  wealthy  and  gener- 
ous families  have  found  that  the  cessation  of  miscella- 
neous almsgiving  at  their  doors  and  elsewhere,  and  the 
substitution  therefor  of  the  present  charity,  has  not 
only  been  more  effective,  but  has  materially  reduced 
able-bodied  vagrancy.  The  members  of  the  society  feel 
assured  that  their  plan  is  the  true  one,  and  believe  that 
by  general  co-operation  professional  mendicancy  could 
soon  be  suppressed.  ,  The  number  of  members  is  stead- 
ily increasing,  and  is  now  over  twenty-seven  hundred. 

The  visitors  go  to  every  tenement  and  place  of  pov- 
erty in  their  particular  section,  make  personal  investi- 
gation of  the  cases  of  destitution,  and  report  them  to  the 

35 


546  The    Gre^vt   Meteopolis. 

Association.  In  no  ordinary  case  is  money  given,  for 
when  it  is,  it  is  liable  to  be  expended  for  liquor.  The 
Association  distributes  nothing  but  food  and  fuel,  and 
that  often  finds  its  way  to  the  corner  grocery.  Tickets 
are  used  for  the  purpose.  Any  member  hearing  of  a 
case  of  destitution  fills  the  ticket  as  follows  : — 

Mr.  John  Jones,   Visitor^  No.  48  Stuyvesant  street: 

Please  visit  Patrick  Murphy,  No.  93  James  street. 

Joseph  Smith, 
Member  N.  Y.  Association 
Por  improving  the  Conditiou  of  the  Poor. 
Eesidence,  56  Fifteenth  street. 

If  Mr.  Jones  finds  Patrick  Murphy  deserving,  Mur- 
phy gets  a  ticket  like  this,  to  the  grocer,  specifying  by 
list  No.  1  or  No.  2  the  articles  needed  : — 

Mr.  Geokge  Jenkins,  44  Elgliteenth  street  : 

Please  let  Patrick  Murphy  have  tke  value  of  $1,  of  list  Xo.  1. 

John  Jones,  Visitor. 
October  14,  1868. 

List  number  one  represents  food  for  persons  in  health,  , 
number   two   represents  food  for    persons   in  sickness.| 
The  number  is   written   in  ink   so  that  it  can  not  be 
readily  altered.     In  this  manner  the  prospect  of  being 
imposed  upon  is  lessened. 

A  statement  of  the  labors  of  the  Association  shows 
that  in  1844  there  were  244  visitors,  10,082  visits  were  j 
made,  1,560  families  and  6,240  persons  were  relieved; 
$10,522  were  received  and  $8,704  disbursed.  Last 
year  there  were  339  visitors,  who  made  22,509  visits; 
5,141  families  and  19,097  persons  were  relieved; 
$57,837  were  received  and  $59,058  disbursed. 

The  Association  has  rooms  at  No.   39  Bible  House, 


CITY  MIS3I0XATIY. 


I 


The   Association   for   the   Poor.  547 

and  from  this,  as  a  radiating  center,  the  visitors  go  forth 
upon  their  mission  of  charity  and  mercy.  The  labor  of 
the  good  and  humane  persons  who  compose  the  Society 
is  constant,  indefatigable  and  beyond  all  praise. 

The  members  are  among  the  best  people  in  the  City. 
Fine  men  and  delicate  women,  in  the  prosecution  of 
benevolence  go  through  the  filthiest  streets  and  into  the 
most  noisome  dens ;  do  every  thing  in  their  power  to 
feed  the  hungry  and  clothe  the  naked,  and  ask  no 
reward  but  the  precious  consciousness  of  benefiting 
their  kind ;  thus  proving  themselves  Christians  what- 
ever their  creed. 


CHAPTER  LXIII. 
THE     WORKING     WOMEN'S    HOME. 

The  high  price  of  living  in  New- York  has  borne  so 
heavily  upon  the  poor  that  it  has  crowded  them  into 
tenement  houses,  and  compelled  them  to  subsist  in  the 
most  unnatural  manner.  The  numerous  women,  who 
rarely  earn  more  than  about  half  the  w^ages  of  men, 
even  when  they  do  men's  work,  are,  and  always  have 
been,  oppressed  by  the  high  prices  they  have  been  com- 
pelled to  pay. 

Any  and  every  boarding-house  keeper  is  prejudiced 
against  women;  would  much  rather  have  men  at  th 
same  rate  ;  and  does  his  or  her  best  to  avoid  taking 
them.  One  w^oman  is  more  burdensome,  they  say,  than 
half  a  dozen  men;  for  she  is  so  much  in  the  house,  and 
gives  so  much  more  trouble  than  the  other  sex.  Unpro- 
tected young  women  are  exposed  to  dangers  and  tempt- 
ations in  the  tenement  houses,  and  yet  they  have  no 
other  place  to  go. 

To  obviate  this  difficulty,  and  to  provide  comfortable 
and  healthful  quarters  for  them,  the  Working  Women's 
Home  was  established  in  this  City  about  a  year  ago. 
The  idea  was  borrowed,  I  beheve,  from  the  model  lodg- 
ing-houses of  Great  Britain,  which  have  been  of  great 
benefit  to  the  laboring  classes,  and  have  become  popular 
and  been  reformatory  wherever  they  have  been  opened. 


The   Working   Women's   Home.  549 

The  Homej  No.  45  Elizabeth  street,  near  Canal,  is  a 
large  six-story  building,  formerly  a  superior  tenement 
house,  erected  originally  by  several  benevolent  New- 
Yorkers  -for  colored  families.  For  some  reason,  the  col- 
ored people  got  crowded  out,  and  persons  of  the  usual 
miscellaneous  character  obtained  possession.  The  phil- 
anthropic citizens  who  had  the  enterprise  in  charge, 
thinking  the  location  favorable,  and  knowing  the  superior 
character  of  the  building,  bought  it  for  $100,000,  and 
expended  $50,000  more  to  put  it  in  order.  They  opened 
it  as  soon  as  the  necessary  repairs  were  made  ;  the  house 
having  been  cleansed  from  top  to  bottom,  painted,  and 
properly  furnished. 

Three  months  were  required  to  advertise  the  object 
of  the  Home,  which  was  for  a  long  while  supposed  to  be 
a  charitable  institution.  When  its  character  was  made 
known,  it  received,  in  a  few  weeks,  about  100  boarders. 
The  number  increased,  and  has  been  increasing  slowly 
but  steadily  ever  since.  At  present  it  has  245  boarders 
— many  more  than  it  has  had  at  any  previous  time, — 
and  before  the  Winter  is  over  it  will  probably  have  not 
far  from  500,  for  whom  there  are  ample  accommoda- 
tions. 

As  you  enter  the  house,  you  find  yourself  in  a  large 
office,  presided  over  by  a  young  woman,  who  receives 
the  money,  attends  to  the  register,  and  performs  the 
duties  of  a  clerk  in  a  hotel.  She  is  always  at  her  post ; 
is  polite  and  attentive,  and  might  give  valuable  lessons 
to  men  in  the  same  position.  Adjoining  the  office  is  a 
large  parlor  and  reading-room,  divided  into  three  com- 
partments, in  the  first  of  which  the  boarders  are  privi- 
leged to  receive  their  friends  of  either  sex  ;  while  the 
others  are  of  a  more  private  character.     The  reading- 


550  The   Great   Metropolis. 

o 

room  lias  files  of  the  daily  papers,  with  a  well-selected 
but  small  library,  and  the  parlor  contains  a  piano  and 
melodeon.  The  boarders  have  music;  talk,  dance,  and 
enjoy  themselves  until  10  in  the  evening,  when  they 
retire.  Adjoining  the  parlor  is  the  dining-room  and 
laundry,  and  in  the  basement  is  the  kitchen,  bakery, 
and  bath-rooms.  On  the  second  floor  are  sleeping 
apartments,  and  also  on  the  third,  fourth,  fifth,  and 
sixth,  the  apartments  opening  into  a  broad  and  airy  hall. 
The  halls  have  such  names  as  Cooper  hall,  Aspinwall 
and  Astor  gallery,  being  christened  after  the  donors  of 
the  establishment.  The  beds  are  ranged  side  by  side, 
and,  separated  by  white  curtains,  are  models  of  neatness 
and  sweetness.  Every  thing  about  the  house  breathes 
the  air  of  order,  cleanliness,  and  comfort,  and  is  deci- 
dedly attractive.  The  washing  is  well  done,  the  cooking 
excellent,  and  the  tables  look  inviting.  While  every 
thing  is  plain,  it  is  substantial  and  satisfactory.  On 
the  south  side  of  the  building  is  a  promenade,  where 
the  boarders  walk  and  take  the  air  when  the  weather 
is  pleasant. 

When  the  Home  was  first  opened,  the  charge  for  board 
and  washing  was  $3.25  a  week,  but  since  then  $1.25  has 
been  fixed  as  the  rate  for  lodging  and  washing,  paya- 
ble in  advance,  the  meals  being  paid  for  when  they  are 
had.  The  $1.25  per  week  entitles  the  boarders  to  all 
the  privileges  of  the  house,  and  the  meals,  received  on 
the  European  plan,  cost  them  from  $1.75  to  $3.25  addi- 
tional. They  live  very  well,  though  the  price  of  their 
meals  does  not  average  20  cents  each. 

No  restrictions  are  placed  upon  the  boarders.  They 
are  admitted  until  11  o'clock  at  night.  If  they  come 
after  that  hour,  they  are  still  let  in,  but  25  cents  extra 


The   Working   Women's   Home.  551 

is  cliar2red  for  the  trouble  of  risinor  and  unlocking:  the 
door.  This  is  an  objectionable  regulation  that  should 
be  changed.  To  guard  against  improper  persons,  refer- 
ences as  to  character  are  required  in  all  cases.  The 
trustees,  including  some  of  our  best  citizens,  desire  to 
make  it  a  well-regulated  Christian  home ;  but  they  do 
not  attempt  to  interfere  with  the  opinions  or  liberty  of 
the  boarders.  Prayers  are  made  every  evening,  and 
those  desirous  of  assisting  at  the  devotional  exercises 
can  do  so,  or  absent  themselves  if  they  choose.  Appli- 
cations for  board  can  be  made  at  any  time.  It  is  not 
customary  to  take  women  for  less  time  than  a  week ; 
but  the  rule  is  often  violated  when  there  is  urgent  rea- 
son. Sometimes  women  go  there  late  at  night,  and, 
having  neither  reference  nor  money,  are  directed  to  the 
House  of  Industry  or  St.  Barnabas.  The  money  is  in 
sisted  upon,  to  preserve  the  dignity  and  self-respect  of 
the  boarders,  who  would  not  remain  if  they  considered  ^ 
themselves  objects  of  charity. 

The  greater  portion  of  the  women  are  foreigners,  but 
many  of  them  Americans.  They  are  generally  between 
18  and  35.  No  restriction  is  made  about  their  age, 
beyond  the  fact  that  they  must  not  be  children,  or  feeble 
or  infirm  from  years.  Any  neat,  healthy,  capable  woman 
of  good  character  is  admissible  as  a  boarder.  Many  of 
the  boarders  are  not  only  intelligent,  but  well  educated. 
Bookfolders,  hoop-skirt-makers,  cloak-makers,  artists,  stu- 
dents, teachers,  and  printers  are  among  the  number. 
They  rise  when  they  please,  and  go  to  their  duties  ;  re- 
turning as  they  like.  They  can  remain  in  the  house  if 
so  disposed.  Indeed,  there  seem  to  be  no  more  re- 
straints upon  them  than  there  would  be  at  any  well- 
regulated  hotel.     The  parlors  are  always  open,  and   the 


552  The   Great   Metropolis. 

library  is  always  accessible,  so  they  who  choose  can 
spend  all  the  time  there.  At  the  hour  for  going  to  bed, 
ten  o'clock,  the  lights  are  put  out,  and  the  boarders 
retire. 

Though  the  boarders  at  the  Home  are  more  numerous 
than  they  have  been — there  are  forty-four  more  now 
than  there  were  on  the  first  of  last  month — there  are  not 
nearly  so  many  as  there  should  be. 

The  idea  that  the  Home  may  be  considered  a  kind  of 
charity,  which  is  so  abhorrent  to  the  American  mind, 
has  prevented  many  persons  from  going  there,  particu- 
larly those  of  native  birth.  Some  abuses,  too,  have 
either  crept  into  the  institution,  or  are  believed  to  have 
done  so, — and  the  effect  is  the  same.  The  Home  has 
been  avoided,  without  good  reason,  and  the  objections 
urged  against  it,  even  if  well-grounded,  might  easily  be 
removed. 

J  There  ought  to  be  dozens  of  such  homes  in  New- York, 
and  there  will  be,  no  doubt,  in  a  few  years.  Compared 
to  tenement  houses,  they  are  a  blessing,  and  offer  induce- 
ments apart  from  economy  that  few  working  women 
can  afford  to  dispense  w^ith. 

During  the  year,  the  receipts  have  paid  the  current 
expenses,  and  next  year  will  yield,  probably,  a  small 
interest  on  the  investment. 

The  principal  obstacle  to  its  complete  success  is  its 
fancied  charitable  character.  But  it  is  no  more  a  charity 
than  the  Fifth  Avenue  or  Metropolitan  hotel  is  a  charity. 
Its  boarders  pay  all  that  is  asked  of  them.  No  obliga- 
tion is  imposed,  no  favor  conferred.  Persons  there,  are, 
and  should  feel,  as  independent  as  in  their  own  house- 
hold. The  trustees  and  incorporators,  among  whom  are 
many  of  our  best  citizens,  are  anxious  to  have  the  Home 


The   Working   Women's   Home.  553 

filledy  and  are  gratified  when  it  is  well  patronized. 
Most  of  the  boarders  are  young  women.  Not  a  few  of 
them  have  been  married,  and  are  still ;  but  their  hus- 
bands are  dissipated,  and  squander  their  wives'  earnings. 
Consequently  the  wives  have  come  to  the  Hom*  as  to  a 
kind  of  asylum,  and  live  there  practically  divorced  until 
their  husbands  die  or  reform.  The  Home  has  not  been 
patronized  by  the  class  one  would  expect — the  poorest ; 
but  by  those  w^ho  are  in  comparatively  comfortable  cir- 
cumstances. 

Some  of  the  boarders  earn  $10  to  $12,  and  even  $15 
to  $16  a  week,  though  the  majority  have  no  more  than 
$6  to  $7.  They  can  live  for  almost  half  of  that,  which 
enables  them  to  save  $100  or  so  during  the  year. 

The  institution  is  excellent,  and  in  a  great  centre  like 
New-York,  very  necessary.  It  wdll  be  imitated,  no 
doubt,  in  other  cities,  and  certainly  deserves  to  be. 


CHAPTER  LXIY. 

THE    MILITARY. 

The  Metropolis  delights  in  the  military,  and  might 
aptly  sing  the  popular  song  from  Offenbach's  opera,  now 
so  much^  in  vogue.  The  parades  of  its  different  regi- 
ments the  City  enjoys  like  a  fresh-hearted  child.  When- 
ever they  turn  out  the  streets  are  crowded,  and  busy 
Broadway  and  the  fashionable  avenues  stand  and  stare 
with  admiring  eyes.  Constant  displays  never  seem  to 
tire  the  Gothamites,  whose  appetite  for  shows  and  spec- 
tacles can  not  be  sated. 

Manhattan,  from  the  earliest  time,  has  had  a  military 
force  for  its  protection,  and  it  needs  such  protection  to- 
day more  than  it  ever  did  before.  Its  military  organi- 
zations have  always  been  numerous  and  effective,  and 
very  creditable  specimens  of  citizen-soldiery.  They 
have  shown  themselves  worthy  of  trust  and  praise  in 
time  of  need,  and  are  really  essential  to  the  City's 
security  and  well-being.  They  have  been  styled  holi- 
day-soldiery, and  carpet-knights,  and  taunted  with  the 
epithets ;  but  when  good  service  was  wanted  the  ridi- 
culed regiments  rendered  it  promptly  and  courageously. 

In  all  great  cities  the  military  are,  if  an  evil,  a 
necessary  evil.  But  for  military  aid  New-York  would 
have  suffered  incalculably  in  times  past.  The  times 
when  it  prevented  or  suppressed  riot  and  bloodshed  are 


The    Military.  555 

memorable,  and  m.any  of  them  of  recent  date.  When 
the  abolition  mob  raged  here,  long  ago,  the  City  sol- 
diery prevented  the  houses  and  stores  of  many  resi- 
dents from  being  torn  down.  During  the  great  fire  of 
1835,  which  destroyed  the  entire  business  portion  of 
the  town,  the  military  came  out  after  the  firemen  had 
been  exhausted,  volunteered  their  services,  and  worked 
day  and  night  until  the  flames  w^ere  subdued.  The 
flour  riots  that  followed  in  the  Spring  would  have  ended 
very  disastrously  if  the  soldiers  had  not  awed  the  mob 
into  quietude,  and  frightened  them  into  dispersion. 

When  Mayor  Clark,  in  1837,  was  elected^  the  banks 
had  concluded  to  suspend  specie  payments,  and  fear- 
ing that  the  movement  would  cause  a  riot,  he  called 
out  the  military.  They  took  their  position  before  Trin- 
ity church,  planted  cannon  there,  and  pointed  them 
down  Wall  street.  Those  iron  monitors  kept  the  peace. 
The  precaution  w\as  wise ;  for  the  suspension  caused 
great  excitement,  which  would  have  burst  into  fury  and 
destruction  but  for  the  armed  preparation. 

The  famous  Astor-Place  opera-house  riots,  in  the 
spring  of  1849,  were  caused  by  the  adherents  of  For- 
rest, who  resolved  to  mob  Macready,  then  playing  there, 
because,  as  they  alleged,  the  English  tragedian  had  cre- 
ated prejudice  against  the  American  when  he  Avas  in 
London.  Some  of  the  most  notorious  rowdies  in  the 
Metropolis  were  in  the  mob,  and  while  the  tumult  was 
at  its  height  the  Seventh  regiment  w^as  ordered  out.  It 
was  then,  as  now,  composed  of  young  men  of  standing 
and  education,"  and  was  called  in  derision  the  '^  kid- 
glove"  and  "dandy"  regiment.  The  roughs  did  not 
suppose  the  luxurious  Seventh  would  be  of  any  service, 
and  shouted  defiance  when  it  w^as  ordered  to  fire.     It 


556  The   Great   Metropolis. 

did  fire,  however,  and  wounded  several  persons,  and 
sliowed  such  determination  and  courage  that  it  put 
down  the  mob. 

When  the  present  Metropolitan  police  were  created 
by  the  legislature,  during  Fernando  Wood's  first  term 
of  mayoralty,  and  he,  at  the  head  of  the  City  police, 
refused  to  acknowledge  their  authority,  there  was  as 
fine  a  prospect  for  municipal  war  as  there  ever  has  been 
in  the  City.  Wood  was  in  the  City  Hall;  the  Park 
was  full  of  his  police,  armed  with  revolvers  and  clubs ; 
and  he  had  sworn  he  would  not  permit  the  warrant 
that  had  been  issued  for  his  arrest  to  be  served  upon 
him.  The  Metropolitan  police  were  under  the  command 
of  Simeon  Draper,  and  it  was  that  body  which  w^as  par- 
ticularly offensive  to  Wood.  While  there  was  every 
probability  of  a  hostile  collision,  the  Seventh  regiment, 
on  its  way  to  Boston,  marched  down  Broadway,  and 
General  Sanford,  who  had  charge  of  the  militia,  halted 
them,  and  ordered  them  to  serve  the  warrant.  The 
City  police  insisted  it  was  their  right  and  duty;  but  the 
General,  believing  that  such  an  attempt  would  cause 
bloodshed,  demanded  that  the  military  should  perform 
the  service.  They  did.  An  officer  entered  the  Park  and 
the  City  Hall,  and  served  the  writ  upon  Fernando 
Wood,  who  had  declared  again  and  again  that  he  would 
not  surrender  alive.  The  presence  of  the  soldiers  either 
overawed  him,  or  caused  him  to  change  his  opinion ;  for 
he  made  no  resistance,  no  further  menaces.  The  serious 
complication  w^as  quieted  without  trouble;  but  if  it  had 
been  left  to  the  two  bodies  of  police,  no  doubt  hundreds 
of  lives  would  have  been  lost. 

A  few  years  ago  the  state  militia  was  converted  into 
the  National  State  Guard,  which  is  the  best  organization 


The   Military.  557 

we  have  yet  had.  The  regiments  in  the  City  are  called 
the  First  division,  and  include  the  following  :  First, 
Second,  Third,  Fourth,  Fifth,  Sixth,  Seventh,  Eighth, 
Ninth,  Eleventh,  Twelfth,  Twenty-second,  Thirty- 
seventh,  Fifty-fifth,  Sixty-ninth,  Seventy-first,  Seventy- 
ninth,  Ninety-sixth,  First  Artillery,  Washington  Gray 
Cavalry,  First  Cavalry,  Second  Cavalry.  They  are 
well  equipped,  well  drilled,  and  well  armed,  and  have  a 
true  soldierly  pride  in  their  organization.  Of  the  dif- 
ferent regiments  and  battalions  few  are  complete. 

The  crack  regiments  are  the  Seventh,  Ninth, 
Twenty-second,  and  Fifty-seventh,  of  which  the  Seventh 
is,  of  course,  the  most  renowned,  if  not  the  best. 

The  whole  division  numbers  about  13,000  men,  who 
are  of  a  superior  order.  They  include  various  nation- 
alities, and  many  of  the  members  have  seen  and 
made  part  of  numerous  well-fought  fields.  When  the 
War  broke  out,  they  proved  that  they  were  not  soldiers 
in  time  of  peace  only,  by  volunteering  promptly,  and 
marching  to  Washington  almost  in  a  body. 

The  city  sent  100,000  men  to  the  field,  though,  of 
course,  a  large  proportion  of  those  enlisted  were  from 
other  cities  and  towns — part  of  the  throng  of  strangers 
who  find  their  way  here  by  a  natural  law.  Of  the 
entire  number  enlisted,  9,000  were  killed  and  wounded, 
and  37,000  served  as  officers  during  the  rebellion. 

When  any  of  the  four  crack  regiments  turn  out,  particu- 
larly the  Seventh,  men,  women,  and  children  turn  out  like- 
wise, and  stand  by  the  hour  on  the  corners  which  it  is 
known  they  will  pass.  It  is  singular,  this  curiosity, 
this  fondness  for  sight-seeing  of  New-Yorkers,  who,  in 
many  things,  are  so  blase  ;  yet,  in  others,  so  excitable. 

Waving  plumes,  gold  lace,  flashing  bayonets,  swells  of 


558  The    Great   Metropolis. 

music,  seem  to  have  strong  magnetic  power  for  the 
populace.  Not  infrequently  the  lines  of  stages  are 
drawn  off,  and  the  whole  tide  of  vehicular  travel  inter- 
rupted, that  the  pompous  parade  may  be  seen  to  advan- 
tage. The  chief  defect  of  the  Metropolis  is,  that  it  has 
but  one  good  thoroughfare, — Broadway, — and  for  that 
reason  any  public  demonstration  here  is  much  more  of  a 
nuisance  than  of  an  attraction.  But  our  citizens  forget 
all  inconveniences  when  their  eye  is  appealed  to  and 
their  love  of  display  gratified. 

Considering  the  immense  number  of  scoundrels  and 
desperadoes  here,  New-York  needs  a  stronger  body  than 
her  two  thousand  police  to  prevent  the  terrible  riots 
that  might  any  moment  be  directed  against  property 
and  life.  We  have  had  instances,  again  and  again,  of 
the  dangerous  element  in  the  midst  of  us.  We  know 
how  formidable  and  ferocious  it  is,  though  it  hides  from 
the  sunshine,  and  many  deem  it  non-existent  because 
invisible.  We  can  detect,  at  any  time,  if  we  will  go  out 
of  our  accustomed  paths,  the  dens  of  the  desperate  men 
who  have  neither  conscience  nor  heart ;  who  would  rob 
for  pleasure  ;  burn  for  malignity  ;  murder  for  excitement. 
There  are  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  of  such 
wretches  within  musket-shot  of  the  fashionable  prome- 
nades and  business  quarters,  and  I  can  not  help  but  think 
that  their  knowledge  that  the  transmission  of  a  message 
over  the  wires  would  bring  13,000  disciplined,  deter- 
mined, experienced  men  to  confront  them  with  deadly 
weapons,  exercises  a  wholesome  restraint. 
f  That  is  a  small  army,  and  would  be  more  than  a 
match  for  ten  times  the  number  of  villains  and  criminals 
with  no  higher  courage  than  brutal  strength  and  desire 
for  plunder  and  rapine  give.     I  fancy  nervous   people 


The   Military.  559. 

who  have  property,  parents  who  have  fair  daughters, 
fine  men  who  have  lovely  wives,  rest  more  calmly  over 
this  volcano  because  they  remember  that  the  means  of 
extinguishing  its  fierce  fires,  should  they  burst  forth,  are 
near  at  hand. 

The  military  have  an  honorable  record  in  New- York, 
and  are  'indispensable  to  its  security.  They  are  not 
costly,  for  each  regiment  receives  but  $500  a  year  from 
the  City  for  its  armory  ;  all  their  other  expenses  being 
met  by  the  members  themselves.  They  keep  up  the 
soldierly  spirit,  and  preserve  a  wholesome  feeling  of 
rivalry  among  the  different  corps.  They  do  a  deal  of 
good  in  various  w^ays,  and  like  sentinels  in  camp  make 
it  safe  /or  virtue,  and  wealth,  and  beauty  to  sleep  while 
the  enemy  is  near. 

Broadway  can  not  exist  without  its  sensations.  I 
was  recalling  the  other  day  the  many  and  different  ones 
it  had  had ;  and  it  occurred  to  me  that  the  grandest  of 
all  was  the  departure  of  the  Seventh  regiment  for  the 
War,  in  the  Spring  of  1861. 

Broadway  w^as  never  so  thronged  before.  Every 
window,  every  square  foot  of  space,  every  doorway, 
was  crowded.  The  Seventh,  composed  of  the  elite  and 
culture  of  the  town,  marched  from  Eighth  street  to 
Cortlandt;  marched,  it  was  believed,  to  martyrdom; 
but  marched  unflinchingly,  determinedly,  heroically  to 
meet  their  doom  for  their  dear  country's  welfare. 

It  was  two  days  after  the  killing  of  the  Massachu- 
setts soldiers  in  Baltimore,  when  the  entire  North  was 
in  a  state  of  doubt  and  anxiety  about  the  issues  of  the 
Rebellion. 

Such  a  greeting  as  the  regiment  received.  A  storm 
of  handkerchiefs,  a  deep,  earnest,  prolonged  cheer,  and 


560  The   Great  Metropolis. 

the  tens  of  thousands  of  men  and  women  standing  there 
with  wet  eyes,  and  unuttered  prayers  upon  their  lips. 
The  scene  was  more  trying  to  the  gallant  soldiers  than 
any  shock  of  battle  could  have  been.  They  were  like 
marble  ;  moved  like  machines  ;  looked  not  to  the  right 
or  the  left,  lest  the  eager  face  of  a  loved  friend  might, 
with  its  intense  sympathy,  stir  emotions  that  could  not 
be  controlled.  They  went  on ;  and  before,  and  behind, 
and  around  them,  the  deep  expression  of  admiration, 
sympathy,  and  love,  roared  hke  a  boisterous  and  melan- 
choly sea. 

There  were  fine  natures,  generous  souls,  chivalrous 
spirits,  marching  stoutly,  as  it  was  thought,  to  death, 
through  the  spotless  gates  of  honor. 

There  Theodore  Winthrop,  the  knightly  gentleman 
and  fearless  soldier,  walked  beside  his  howitzer,  no 
more  to  return  alive,  but  to  come  home  dead  upon  the 
gun,  all  draped  in  crape  and  wrapped  with  the  banner  of 
stars,  the  Nation  mourning  him  as  heroes  are  ever 
mourned. 

Sad,  eventful  day,  it  will  never  be  forgotten.  It  was 
one  of  the  first  great  impulses,  the  deep  agonies  of  the 
vast  struggle  which  made  ambition  virtue  and  courage 
patriotism. 

Broadway  had  never  seen  its  like ;  has  never  since  ; 
will  never  see  it  again.  Those  who  witnessed  it  bear 
it  in  mind  as  an  inspiration  and  an  era  of  painful  joy. 
The  mighty  City  felt  the  going  of  the  Seventh  regi- 
ment to  its  heart's  core.  The  event  has  never  been 
described  as  it  ought  to  have  been.  It  thrilled  through 
the  land.  It  gave  the  country  five  hundred  thousand 
soldiers  ;  it  was  the  beginning  of  the  War,  the  nerver  of 
the  struggle,  the  guarantee  of  victory. 


CHAPTER  LXY. 
THE    FIRE    DEPARTMENT. 

The  abandonment  of  the  old  system  of  the  Volunteer 
Fire  Department,  and^  the  adoption  of  the  present  Paid 
Department  in  New- York  has  been  a  very  efficient 
cause  of  diminished  lawlessness  and  ruffianism  in  the 
City. 

Rowdyism  never  received  two  such  severe  blows  as 
the  estabhshment  of  the  Metropolitan  Police  and  the 
Paid  Fire  Department  gave  it,  and  it  will  never  recover 
from  them.  The  old  police  system  encouraged  ruffian- 
ism and  disorder,  by  insuring  to  ruffians  and  criminals 
immunity  from  punishment,  and  the  engine  houses 
furnished  them  shelter  and  rallying  points  for  additional 
outrages.  The  engine  houses  were  indeed  the  abiding 
places  and  recruiting  offices  for  the  worst  class  of  our 
population. 

The  old  police  were  the  aiders  and  abettors — often 
the  friends  and  companions — of  the  fire-boy  roughs ; 
and  between  the  two,  rowdyism  had  an  organization 
and  a  system  that  made  it  a  power  in  the  municipal 
government  most  formidable  for  evil. 

For  years  before  the  City  Police  and  the  Volunteer 
Department  were  abolished,  every  intelligent  person 
saw  that  they  were  the  most  serious  impediments  we 
had  to  contend  with  in  the  establishment  of  public 

36 


562  The   Great   Metropolis. 

peace  and  private  security.  All  the  clamor  against 
them,  all  the  earnest  effort  to  get  rid  of  them,  were  of 
no  avail  until  the  desperate  condition  of  affairs  in  the 
City  transferred  the  appointment  of  the  police  to  the 
State,  in  1857. 

The  conflict  on  the  9th  of  June  of  that  year,  for  the 
possession  of  the  Street  Commissioner's  office,  when 
Fernando  Wood,  as  Mayor,  refused  to  surrender  the 
keys,  and  the  Governor  ordered  his  arrest,  is  still  fresh 
in  the  minds  of  the  public.  The  Mayor  resisted,  and 
the  old  police  under  him  sided  against  the  Metropoli- 
tans, causing  a  fierce  fight  on  the  steps  of  the  City  Hall, 
in  which  many  were  wounded. 

On  the  evening  of  July  4th  the  trouble,  which  seemed 
to  have  been  settled,  broke  out  anew,  and  caused  what 
is  known  as  the  Dead  Rabbit  Riot.  The  Dead  Rabbits — 
loafers  and  roughs,  thieves  and  convicts,  belonging  to 
the  Five  Points — were  on  the  side  of  the  old  police,  and 
attacked  the  Metropolitan  patrolmen  in  the  Bowery. 
The  Bowery  Boys,  then  a  notorious  organization  of 
fighting  men,  supported  the  police,  and  a  series  of  riots 
ensued  in  the  Sixth  Ward ;  the  women  of  that  locality 
hurling  bricks,  stones,  and  other  missiles,  from  the 
houses,  upon  the  heads  of  the  Metropolitans.  The 
military  were  called  out,  and  suppressed  the  riots,  but 
not  before  twelve  persons  had  been  killed  and  more 
than  two  hundred  wounded. 

The  Dead  Rabbits  were  actually  dead  after  that; 
but  the  Bowery  Boys  lingered  on  until  the  adoption  of 
the  Paid  Fire  Department,  four  years  ago,  which  put  a 
quietus  upon  the  Boys,  and  removed  almost  every  trace 
of  their  noxious  existence. 

The  reformation  of  the  engine  houses  had  the  same 


The   Fire  Department.  563 

effect  on  the  rowdies  who  frequented  them,  that  the 
breaking  of  pots  of  earth  has  upon  the  plants  they  con- 
tain. The  roughs  lost  their  rendezvous,  their  asylums, 
and  they  disappeared  as  an  organization.  New-York 
still  has  rowdies  in  excess,  but  they  are  less  numerous 
and  far  less  dangerous  than  ever  before  \  and  the  Paid 
Fire  Department  is  the  new  boundary  between  past 
disorder  and  present  improvement. 

The  Metropolitan  Fire  Department  is  under  the  con- 
trol of  a  Board  of  Commissioners,  five  in  number,  Avho 
have  their  office  in  Firemen's  Hall,  127  and  129  Mercer 
street,  where  all  the  affairs  of  the  Department  are  trans- 
acted. The  Department  has  one  Chief  Engineer,  at  a 
salary  of  $4,500  ;  one  Assistant  Engineer,  at  $2,500 ; 
ten  District  Engineers,  each  at  $1,800 ;  forty-five  Fore- 
men of  Companies,  each  at  $1,300  ;  thirty  Assistant 
Foremen,  each  at  $1,000;  thirty-two  Engineers  of 
Steamers,  each  at  $1,200  ;  four  hundred  and  one  pri- 
vates, each  at  $1,000  ;  five  hundred  and  nineteen  men 
in  all. 

The  engine  houses,  sixty-three  in  number,  have  been 
materially  altered  and  improved  since  the  abandon- 
ment of  the  old  system.  The  volunteer  firemen  had 
done  much  damage  to  the  houses,  and  in  many  cases 
had  claimed,  carried  off,  and  stolen  private  property. 
The  buildings  were  erected  by  the  City  at  great  cost, 
many  of  them  having  been  elegantly  decorated  by  private 
contributions ;  and  since  they  have  been  repaired  they 
are  very  comfortable  and  handsome.  The  paid  firemen 
feel  a  pride  in  them,  and  instead  of  lounging  about  the 
doorways,  carousing  and  fighting,  and  often  insulting 
passers-by,  as  their  predecessors  did,  they  occupy  well- 
furnished  sitting  rooms  while  awaiting  duty. 


534  The   Great   Metropolis. 

The  number  of  hand-engines  is  nine,  of  steam-engines 
in  active  service  thirty-four,  and  in  reserve  eight.  The 
hose  carriages  and  hook  and  ladder  companies  are  re- 
spectively fifteen  and  eight.  The  second  class  steamers 
have  been  found  the  best  for  general  and  efficient  serv- 
ice, and  cost  about  $4,000  apiece. 

The  cost  of  the  Paid  Fire  Department  the  past  year 
was  nearly  $900,000,  while  that  of  the  volunteer  sys- 
tem during  its  last  year  was  less  than  $600,000,  though 
it  must  be  remembered  that  about  $700,000  of  the  former 
expense  was  for  the  pay  of  the  force.  Whatever  the 
increase  in  expenditure,  there  is  no  doubt  the  Paid  De- 
partment is  much  more  serviceable  and  effective  in  ex- 
tinguishing and  preventing  fires  than  was  the  Volunteer. 

On  an  alarm  of  fire  an  average  of  one-sixth  of  the 
entire  force  goes  to  the  place  designated,  and  if  the 
alarm  be  repeated  the  number  is  increased  to  one-third. 
The  time  required  for  harnessing  the  horses  and  leaving 
the  engine  house  is  twenty-five  seconds. 

The  present  force  is  under  almost  military  discipline, 
and  furnishes  a  marked  contrast  to  the  volunteers.  A 
few  years  ago  a  fire  in  New- York  was  a  revolution, 
caused  much  more  clamor  and  excitement  than  a  change 
of  Govjernment  in  Mexico  or  the  South  American  Re- 
publics. When  the  alarm  was  sounded  the  town  was 
turned  upside  down.  A  wild  mob  rushed  through  the 
streets  with  the  engines,  bellowing  through  their  trum- 
pets, hallooing  at  the  top  of  their  voices  to  the  terror 
and  danger  of  all  quiet  citizens.  A  fire  then  was  little 
less  than  a  riot.  It  furnished  excitement  to  the  idle, 
and  an  opportunity  for  the  dishonest.  Dwellings  and 
stores,  near  the  fire,  were  often  broken  open  and  plun- 
dered under  pretense   of  saving  property.     Anybody 


The    Fire   Department.  565 

could  act  as  a  fireman.  There  was  no  order,  no  restric- 
tion, no  responsibility. 

With  the  new  system  every  thing  is  different.  Order 
and  disciplin^e  take  the  place  of  numbers.  The  police 
exclude  all  persons  not  members  of  the  force,  and  each 
man  does  his  own  work.  Robberies  at  fires,  once  the 
rule,  have  now  become  a  rare  exception.  As  an 
instance,  not  long  ago,  during  a  fire  near  Tiffany  &  Co.'s 
great  jewelry  establishment,  in  Broad WQ.y,  the  firemen 
had  access  to  every  part  of  the  building.  They  could 
have  stolen  and  concealed  small  articles  of  great  value 
without  any  fear  of  detection,  and  yet  nothing  what- 
ever was  taken,  a  fact  that  the  firm  gratefully  acknoAvl- 
edged  at  the  time.  The  members  of  the  force,  as  a 
class,  are  sober,  intelligent,  and  exemplary  citizens,  as 
unlike  their  predecessors  as  it  is  easy  to  imagine. 

The  whole  number  of  fires  during  the  past  year  was 
873,  incurring  losses  of  $5,711,000,  being  $717,736  less 
than  the  loss  of  the  year  previous.  It  is  believed  that 
the  number  of  fires  w^ill  steadily  decrease  as  the  depart- 
ment is  improved  and  perfected.  New- York  has  long 
been  famous  for  fires,  and  many  foreigners  religiously 
believe  there  is  no  hour  of  the  twenty-four  that  some 
building  is  not  burning  down  here.  No  wonder  they 
thought  so  once.  We  have  made  a  reformation,  how- 
ever, and  before  many  years  a  fire  will  be  as  unusual  in 
New- York  as  it  is  in  London. 

Many  of  the  fires  are  incendiary;  but  such  increased 
vigilance  has  been  instituted  that  they  must  grow  rarer 
and  rarer.  It  has  long  been  observed  that  the  dullness 
of  trade  in  the  City  acts  like  a  combustible,  and  that 
well-insured  stocks  of  goods  when  not  in  active  demand 
are  in  the  greatest  peril  of  being  burned.     This  phe- 


566  The   Great   Metropolis. 

nomenon  has  never  been  satisfactorily  explained,  though 
there  are  doubters  of  human  integrity  who  claim  to 
account  for  it  by  natural  causes. 

The  fire-alarm  telegraph  has  greatly  improved  in  its 
working,  but  would  be  still  more  effective  if  the  Relay 
&  Bell  magnet,  with  the  Morse  key,  w^ere  introduced 
into  the  engine  houses,  so  that  alarms  could  be  sent  out 
for  other  stations  than  their  own.  The  expense  attend- 
ing the  purchase  of  the  best  apparatus  would  be  so  large 
that  the  Commissioners  have  refrained  from  obtaining 
it.  The  fire  stations  of  the  City  are  about  500,  and  are 
indicated  by  the  striking  of  the  bells  in  the  towers  accord- 
ing to  the  numbers.  Thus,  323  is  the  corner  of  Twenty- 
sixth  street  and  Eighth  avenue.  Ten  strokes  give  the 
general  alarm  ;  then  follow  three  strokes  in  quick  suc- 
cession ;  a  pause  ;  two  more  strokes  ;  a  pause,  and  three 
strokes,  which,  by  consulting  a  little  pamphlet  distrib- 
uted throughout  the  City,  shows  almost  the  exact  loca- 
tion of  the  fire. 

All  the  fires,  wdth  important  particulars,  are  tele- 
graphed to  police  head-quarters  in  Mulberry  street, 
where  the  reporters  of  the  daily  papers  obtain  their 
information  without  going  to  the  spot,  which,  in  a  city 
like  New- York,  w^ould  often  occupy  more  time  than 
could  be  spared  betw^een  the  occurrence  of  the  fire  and 
the  hour  of  publication. 

The  bell-towers  in  different  parts  of  the  town  are  fur- 
nished w^ith  excellent  bells,  that  can  be  heard  to  a  great 
distance.  The  bells  at  the  Post-office,  City  Hall,  Union 
and  Jefferson  Markets,  are  among  the  most  famous  and 
resonant ;  three  of  them  are  new,  and  well  sustain  the 
reputation  of  the  old. 

The  condition  of  the  firemen,  morally  and  physically, 


r 


The    Fire  Department.  567 

is  very  good.  They  keep  their  uniforms,  their  appara- 
tus, and  their  horses  exceedingly  neat;  showing  much 
of  the  care  and  pride  about  person  and  property  that 
regular  soldiers  feel.  It  used  to  be  said  that  men  who 
were  hired  would  not  be  found  to  discharge  the  duties 
like  volunteers ;  but  the  experiment  has  proved  exactly 
the  opposite. 

The  Commissioners  have  constant  applications  for 
situations,  and  whenever  vacancies  occur,  there  are  at 
least  ten  candidates  for  each  vacancy.  The  spirit  of 
rivalry  which  once  resulted  in  violent  quarrels,  fights, 
and  riots,  now  reveals  itself  in  a  spirit  of  generous  emu- 
lation, that  redounds  to  the  general  advantage  and  effi- 
cacy of  the  Department. 

The  fire  insurance  companies,  more  deeply  interested 
than  any  other  portion  of  the  community,  bear  witness 
to  the  great  superiority  of  the  new  system  over  the  old. 
Improvements  are  being  made  steadily,  and,  though 
New-York  is  still  behind  other  and  smaller  cities  in  its 
Fire  Department,  it  is  likely  that  in  a  few  years  it  will 
be  equal  to  any  of  them. 

No  one  living  out  of  the  Metropolis  can  realize  what 
a  great  relief  and  advance  the  Paid  Department  is. 
Instead  of  being  a  nuisance  and  a  nest  of  rowdyism  and 
vice,  it  is  a  protection,  an  insurer  of  the  public  peace, 
and  a  municipal  benefaction. 


CHAPTER  LXYL 
RACING    AND    FAST    HORSES. 

The  Metropolis  has  ^^  developed "  in  nothing  more 
rapidly  than  in  the  quality  of  its  horses.  The  last  ten 
or  twelve  years  have  made  a  revolution  in  horse-flesh. 
Men  now  drive,  and  have  an  enthusiasm  about  blooded 
stock,  who,  until  recently,  had  no  interest  in  the  turf,  or 
any  thing  belonging  to  it.  They  w^ere  satisfied  to  jog 
along  behind  slow  and  sober  steeds,  until,  catching 
the  fetlock  fever,  they  subscribed  to  The  Spirit  of  the 
Times^  and  spent  thousands  of  dollars  in  making  addi- 
tions to  their  stables. 

America  has  been  imitating  England,  the  North  fol- 
lowing the  South,  in  making  the  turf  one  of  the  pleasures 
proper  and  honorable  to  the  class  of  gentlemen.  The 
time  when  men  owming  and  delighting  in  horses  were 
contemptuously  spoken  of  as  "jockeys,"  no  longer 
exists.  No  man  of  the  Avorld,  who  has  liberal  means 
and  aspires  to  fashion,  considers  his  establishment  com- 
plete without  a  well-supplied  stable.  Our  first  men  of 
business,  and  even  members  and  dignitaries  of  the 
church,  possess  and  enjoy  handsome  roadsters,  and 
discuss  their  "  time  "  and  "  bottom "  over  the  dinner- 
table,  in  the  counting-room,  and  in  ecclesiastical  portals. 

The  opening  of  the  Central  Park,  with  its  fine  drives, 
has,  more  than  ahy  thing  else,  given  a  new  interest  to 


Racing  and   Fast   Horses.  569 

fast  horses  and  fine  stables.  The  Park  is  a  magnificent 
place  to  exhibit  horses,  and  men  buy  them  for  the 
privilege  of  displa^ying  their  good  poiats  and  high  spirit 
there.  Any  pleasant  afternoon  you  can  see  in  the  Park 
the  change  it  has  wrought  upon  persons  who  like  to 
move  rapidly  on  wheels. 

The  race-courses  of  New-York  have,  until  recently, 
been  on  Long  Island.  The  Centreville  has  fallen  into 
disuse ;  but  the  Fashion,  Union,  and  Long  Island  tracks 
are  still  the  scenes  of  spirited  contests  between  trotters. 
They  are  not  so  popular  as  they  once  were;  for  they  are 
out  of  the  way,  and  the  roads  leading  to  them  not 
desirable.  Ten  or  fifteen  years  ago,  the  most  remarka- 
ble contests  were  on  those  tracks,  both  by  running  and 
trotting  horses.  Eclipse  and  Sir  Henry  had  their  great 
struggle ;  Fashion  made  her  famous  running  time  ;  Gray 
Eagle  and  Wagner  awoke  wild  enthusiasm ;  Lady  Suf- 
folk, Flora  Tei^ple,  George  M.  Patchen,  Dexter,  Gen. 
Butler,  Whalebone,  Lantern,  Mountain  Boy,  and  other 
celebrated  trotters  have  shown  their  best  speed  on  the 
Long  Island  courses.  Of  late,  only  trotters  have  gone 
upon  those  tracks,  which  though  very  good,  decrease 
each  season  in  public  favor. 

The  Jerome  Park,  the  newest  and  finest  course  in  the 
country,  at  Fordham,  Westchester  county,  is  now 
devoted  to  running  races  exclusively.  It  is  named  after 
Leonard  W.  Jerome,  the  well-known  turfman  and  Wall 
street  operator,  who  gave  the  land  for  the  purpose. 
The  Jerome  Park  is  managed  and  controlled  by  the 
members  of  the  American  Jockey  Club, — citizens  of 
fortune  and  education,  of  high  social  position,  and 
prominent  in  business  circles.  Their  intention  has  been 
to  make  the  turf  respectable ;  to  render  racing  a  refined 


570  The   Great   Metropolis 

and  dignified  recreation  among  gentlemen,  and  to  remove 
from  it  all  unfairness  and  trickery.  This  has  been 
accomplished,  and*the  races  at  Jerome  Park  resemble 
the  Derby  in  England,  and  the  Longchamps  in  France. 
The  best  class  of  people,  of  both  sexes,  attend,  and  the 
grand  display  is  well  worth  witnessing. 

The  men  and  women  dress  for  the  Jerome  Park, 
though  in  different  style,  as  they  do  for  the  opera  or  an 
evening  reception.  They  are  brave  and  gallant ;  look 
their  prettiest,  and  behave  their  best.  You  see  there 
the  Broadway  merchant  and  Beaver  street  importer, 
the  Broad  street  broker  and  exchange  place  banker,  the 
Nassau  street  journalist  and  Fifth  avenue  dandy,  the 
club-lounger  and  Tenth  street  artist,  the  belle  of 
Madison  avenue  and  the  leader  of  Twenty-third  street 
fashion,  the  majestic  entertainer  of  Fifth  avenue  and 
the  charming  coquette  of  Stuyvesant  square.  Silks 
and  laces,  velvets  and  jewels,  plumes  and  perfumes, 
flowers  and  brocades,  ravishing  beauties  and  chivalrous 
cavaliers,  are  there  in  profusion.  The  Park  is  an 
excellent  place  to  witness  the  fiishion,  and  wealth,  and 
culture  of  the  City;  and  the  races  there  often  become 
secondary,  as  an  attraction,  to  the  brilliant  crowd  in 
attendance. 

Another  show-place  for  fine  trotters  is  Peter  Dubois's 
track,  near  Mc Comb's  dam,  where,  on  any  fair  after- 
noon, most  of  the  fine  horses  owned  by  private  gentlemen 
can  be  seen.  Many  a  friendly  contest  is  had  there ; 
and  speed  is  reached,  not  unfrequently,  that  surprises 
the  drivers  themselves.  Dubois's  is  growing  more  and 
more  into  favor,  and  several  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
dollars'  worth  of  blooded  stock  is  visible  there  in  a  few 
hours,  during  the  pleasant  Spring  and  Autumn  months. 


Racing  and   Fast   Horses.  571 

Harlem  lane  is  still  another  field  for  the  display  of 
fine  stock.  General  Grant  was  invited  there  when  he 
visited  New- York,  after  the  close  of  the  Rebellion,  and 
was  delighted  with  the  splendid  turn-outs  that  dashed 
before  and  around  him,  doing  honor  to  the  occasion. 
It  is  an  excellent  trotting-ground,  and  has  a  wide  repu- 
tation with  lovers  of  the  turf. 

Samuel  N.  Pike,  of  opera-house  fame,  is  soon  to  lay 
out  a  splendid  race-course,  on  the  New-Jersey  flats.  He 
has  a  very  liberal  way  of  doing  things,  and  will,  no 
doubt,  give  New-York  something  to  be  proud  of. 

Among  the  many  gentlemen  who  own  blooded  and 
expensive  horses,  Robert  Bonner,  of  The  Ledger^  is  the 
most  conspicuous.  In  his  stables  are  Dexter  (the  fastest 
trotter  in  the  World — his  best  time  being  2  :17^),  the 
Auburn  horse.  Young  Pocahontas,  Peerless,  Lady  Palmer, 
Lantern,  and  Flatbush  Maid.  Bonner,  though  willing  to 
spend  any  sum  for  a  good  horse,  is  conscientiously 
opposed  to  racing,  and  will  not  consent  to  any  contest 
for  money,  under  any  circumstances.  He  will  not  sell 
horses,  either.  He  gave  $25,000  or  $30,000  for  Dexter, 
and  would  not  part  with  him  for  twice  the  amount.  The 
value  of  his  blooded  stock  is  not  less  than  $100,000  to 
$150,000.  He  has  an  ambition  to  own  the  fastest  trot- 
ters in  America;  and,  no  doubt,  if  some  horse  were  to  do  a 
mile  inside  of  Dexter's  best,  Bonner  would  pay  $100,000 
for  him.  He  has  been  urged  again  and  again  to  trot 
Dexter  against  some  other  fleet  animal,  but  his  invaria- 
ble reply  is,  that  2:17^  must  be  beaten  before  the  prop- 
osition is  even  entertainable.  The  only  way  he  will  bet 
is  to  put  up  a  certain  amount  on  his  horse's  capacity  to 
trot  a  mile  within  a  certain  time.  If  he  don't,  Bonner 
will  give  the  amount  named  to  a  charitable  purpose. 


572  The   Great   Metropolis. 

The  famous  journalist  seems  to  have  ahnost  as  much 
interest  in  horses  as  in  The  Ledger.  He  is  what  might 
be  called,  if  there  were  any  such  word,  an  equinarian. 
He  takes  the  same  care  of  his  beloved  steeds  that  a 
parent  does  of  a  favorite  child.  He  studies  their  com- 
fort in  every  way,  and  his  handsome  stables  are  models 
of  horse-homes.  Every  day  he  visits  his  elegant  stalls; 
examines  his  fleet  property;  fondles  and  talks  to  it 
in  the  tenderest  manner.  They  know  him  thoroughly, 
and  will,  no  doubt,  in  time,  be  induced  to  write  for  The 
Ledger.  Almost  every  afternoon  he  drives  in  the  Park 
or  Harlem  lane,  on  Dubois's  track,  or  lo  High  Bridge,  in  a 
double  team ;  and  his  splendid  turn-out  always  attracts 
attention  on  the  road. 

Cornelius  Vanderbilt,  after  Bonner,  is  probably  the 
greatest  horse-fancier  in  Manhattan.  He  has  long  been 
anxious  to  buy  I)exter  and  some  other  of  the  journal- 
ist's blooded  stock ;  but  he  can  t,  with  all  his  millions. 
The  Commodore  owns  a  dozen  fine  horses;  but  his  best 
and  fastest  are  Mountain  Boy,  Post  Boy,  and  Mountain 
Girl,  which  could  not  be  purchased  at  less  than  fabulous 
figures,  as  Vanderbilt,  like  The  Ledger  proprietor,  is  a 
buyer,  not  a  seller. 

William  Turnbull,  a  prosperous  merchant,  is  a  promi- 
nent turfman  and  lover  of  horses.  He  has  extensive 
and  costly  stables ;  and,  among  other  crack  trotters, 
boasts  of  Commodore  Vanderbilt,  Lew  Pettee,  and  Wil- 
lie Schepper. 

William  Simmons,  the  wealthy  broker,  shows  off  his 
tw^o  fast  trotters,  George  Wilkes  and  Honest  Allen,  in 
the  Park  drives  and  along  the  Bloomingdale  road  (now 
Broadway),  when  the  weather  is  favorable,  and  has 
several  roadsters  beside. 


Racing   and   Fast   Hokses.  573 

Daniel  L.  Pettee,  the  South  street  iron  merchant,  has 
Ella  Sherwood.  Gardiner  G.  Ilowland,  the  well-known 
merchant,  owns  and  drives  Lady  Irving  and  mate. 
George  B.  Allen,  the  Broad  street  broker ;  Edw^ard 
Matthews,  Jerome  B.  Fellow^s,  Lester  Wallack,  E.  T. 
Simmons,  and  many  others,  have  fine  trotters  in  their 
stables. 

Among  the  owners  of  running  horses  are  August  Bel- 
mont, the  banker ;  William  R.  Travers,  the  William 
street  broker;  John  Hunter,  M.  II.  Sanford,  Leonard 
W.  Jerome,  Francis  and  Lewis  Morris,  James  S.  Wat- 
son, Paul  Forbes,  and  others.  They  all  have  fine  sta- 
bles, in  w^hich  numerous  thorough-bred  roadsters  may 
be  found,  faring  almost  as  daintily  as  the  celebrated 
stallion  that  Caligula  made  consul. 

The  number  of  superb  horses  that  are  owmed  and 
driven  here,  though  they  may  not  be  called  fast  in 
sporting  circles,  is  very  large.  It  is  not  uncommon  for 
men  of  business  and  retired  merchants  to  have  stables 
that  have  cost  from  $10,000  to  $50,000,  and  not  a  few 
have  expended  $100,000  on  horse-flesh  alone. 

Fast  stock  and  betting  are  like  cause  and  effect. 
Owners  of  good  horses  always  have  faith  enough  in 
them  to  back  their  performances  wdth  money;  and,  con- 
sequently, laying  wagers  on  races  is  becoming  more  and 
more  a  custom  and  a  fashion.  Whenever  a  contest  is  to 
take  place  over  the  Union,  Fashion,  or  Long  Island 
courses,  or  at  the  Jerome  Park,  pools  are  advertised  and 
sold  at  some  w^ell-known  place,  like  Lafayette  Hall,  or 
the  Astor  House,  or  some  club,  or  rendezvous  of  the 
sporting  fraternity. 

Pool  selling  is  managed  in  this  way  :  The  man  who 
sells  the  pools  asks  those  present  how  much  is  betted 


574  The   Great   Metropolis. 

on  the  choice  of,  say  four  horses, — Dexter,  Mountain 
Boy,  .Lantern,  and  Bruno.  A  bets  $1,000,  and  takes 
Dexter ;  B  bets  $300,  and  takes  Mountain  Boy ;  C 
bets  $150,  and  takes  Lantern;  D  bets  $50,  and  takes 
Bruno.  Of  course,  Dexter  is  the  favorite ;  but  the 
smaller  amounts  laid  on  the  other  horses  are  thought  to 
make  the  chances  about  even.  The  pool  is  $1,500,  and 
the  better  on  the  winning  horse  gets  the  whole  amount. 

Pool-selling  usually  draws  a  crowd,  when  the  race  is 
an  interesting  one.  All  sorts  of  people  attend  it, — turf- 
men of  fashion,  blacklegs,  loafers,  merchants,  and  pick- 
pockets. Betting  and  racing  make  strange  companions, 
and  establish  a  bond  of  sympathy  between  persons  of 
the  most  different  calling  and  character. 

Men  who  experience  a  passion  for  horses  are  often 
more  affected  by  it  than  by  any  other  passion.  It 
seems  to  absorb  them.  They  turn  to  the  subject  on  all 
occasions,  and  their  conversation  is  interlarded  with 
phrases  borrowed  from  the  stable.  Horses  are  a  source 
of  profound  pleasure  to  many  of  our  citizens,  as  is 
evident  to  one  who  drives  out  to  the  Park  or  Harlem 
lane,  Dubois's  track,  or  High  Bridge.  He  will  see,  at 
any  of  those  places,  splendid  turn-outs,  from  the  sin- 
gle horse  in  a  light  buggy  to  the  pretentious  four-in- 
hand.  Long  strides,  crimson  nostrils,  sleek  coats, 
whirling  wheels,  admiring  faces,  tightened  reins,  clouds 
of  dust,  with  a  general  rapidity  of  life  and  a  great 
enthusiasm  for  the  road,  will  be  strikingly  apparent. 
Our  fashionable  turf-men  would  be  wretched  without 
their  daily  drive.  It  is  meat  and  drink  for  them. 
Every  year  it  grows  more  a  necessity  of  their  idaily 
life,  and  is  now  the  brightest  segment  in  their  round  of 
pleasure. 


CHAPTEK  LXYII. 
GIFT    ENTERPRISES.  AND     SWINDLES. 

Cities  take  the  nonsense  out  of  a  man,  it  has  been 
said.  They  do  more  :  they  take  his  purse  whenever 
they  have  a  chance ;  and  the  longer  it  is,  the  more  apt 
he  is  to  lose  it.  New-York,  particularly,  is  armed  against 
unsophisticated  strangers,  and  offers  the  services  of  its 
sons  to  relieve  them  of  the  last  dollar  they  have  at  the 
earliest  moment,  and  with  the  most  imperturbable 
audacity. 

William  Sharp  stands  in  Broadway  and  the  Bowery, 
in  Chatham  and  West  street,  waiting  for  his  good  friend, 
John  Greenhorn;  takes  John  to  his  bosom,  and  robs 
John  according  to  the  code  of  metropolitan  morals. 

Hundreds  of  persons  in  this  City  live  year  after  year 
by  plundering  those  whose  homes  are  in  the  country. 
Frequently  they  have  an  opportunity  to  swindle  the 
rustics  in  town ;  but  so  many  of  the  latter  fail  to  visit 
Manhattan  that  it  behooves  Sharp  to  communicate  with 
John  upon  his  native  heath. 

To  do  this  effectually  Gift  Enterprises,  as  they  are 
called,  have  been  established.  They  extend  throughout 
the  country;  all  credulous  men,  women  and  children 
are  made  parties  to  the  liberal  scheme.  The  Enterprises 
are  managed  thus  :  the  principal  office  is  located  in 
New- York,  with  branches  in  Boston,  Philadelphia,  Balti- 
more, Chicago,  and  all  the  principal  cities.    The  managers 


576  The    Great   Metropolis. 

call  themselves  Boggs,  Simpkins  &  Co.,  or  Thompson, 
Jones  &  Smith,  take  an  office  in  some  prominent  quarter 
— Broadway  is  their  favorite — and  advertise  in  all  the 
country  papers  that  they  are  to  have  a  grand  concert  at 
Irving,  Tammany,  or  Apollo  Hall,  when  a  drawing  of 
handsome  prizes  will  take  place.  A  list  of  the  prizes 
then  follows,  and  is  of  a  very  tempting  character.  Gold 
watches,  diamond  pins,  pearl  bracelets,  melodeons, 
pianos,  emerald  rings,  horses  and  carriages,  are  offered, 
with  the  statement  that  the  prizes  will,  if  required,  he 
exchanged  for  money. 

The  managers  of  the  concert  get  hold  of  directories 
of  various  cities,  country  newspapers,  letter  lists,  sub- 
scription lists  to  newspapers,  and  obtain  from  them 
thousands  of  names.  To  those  names,  all  over  the 
country,  they  direct  neatly  lithographed  circulars, 
setting  forth  the  advantages  in  glowing  terms  of  the 
proposed  concert  and  drawing.  It  is  expressly  stated 
that  any  one  taking  a  set  of  tickets,  fifteen  in  number, 
will  be  guaranteed  a  prize  worth  at  least  $100,  on  condi- 
tion that  the  person  receiving  the  prize  will  show  it  to 
his  or  her  friends,  and  inform  them  how  and  where  he  or 
she  got  it. 

The  tickets  are  $1  each ;  but,  as  a  special  inducement, 
it  is  declared  that  a  set  will  be  sent  for  $10,  if  the  tickets 
are  distributed.  By  such  means  the  cupidity  of  credulous 
people  is  appealed  to.  They  fancy  they  w^ill  have  a 
handsome  reward  for  their  pains.  They  make  an  effort 
to  merit  the  prize,  and  usually  dispose  of  the  entire  set 
of  tickets.  They  inclose  $10  to  Boggs,  Simpkins  &  Co., 
dream  of  what  they  will  secure,  very  much  as  children 
dream  of  hung-up  stockings  on  Christmas  eve,  and  never 
hear  any  thing  more  of  their  money  or  the  concert. 


Gift   Enterprises   and   Swindles.  577 

Possibly  they  come  to  town,  and  try  to  find  out 
something  about  the  firm.  They  call  at  the  office.  It 
is  handsomely  furnished ;  but  Boggs  can't  be  found,  nor 
Simpkins,  nor  the  Co.  Each  one  of  the  firm  has  gone 
somewhere.  They  may  call  again  and  again ;  but  it 
will  always  be  with  the  same  result.  The  truth  is  there 
is  no  such  person  as  Boggs  or  Simpkins.  The  managers 
are  fictitious ;  have  a  nominal  existence  only  to  swindle. 

If  the  question  is  laid  before  the  police  nothing  can 
be  done.  The  ticket  admits  the  holder  to  a  concert 
when  it  takes  place;  but  the  date  is  never  given. 
The  managers  have  a  right  to  charge  what  they  choose 
to  an  entertainment,  and  to  offer  any  prizes  they  see  fit. 
These  Gift  Enterprises  have  been  so  often  exposed  of 
late  that  they  don't  meet  w^ith  such  success  as  they 
used  to.  But  still  there  are  persons  verdant  enough  to 
be  imposed  upon,  and  will  be,  no  doubt,  for  many 
years. 

The  managers  of  such  sw^indles  often  claim  to  have 
drawings  ;  giving  as  prizes,  watches,  rings,  and  brace- 
lets, valued  at  such  and  such  a  rate.  If  the  victims  have 
received  a  watch  for  $200,  worth  $10  or  $15,  and  seek 
redress,  the  swindlers  say  they  valued  it  at  $200 ;  but 
the  worth  of  it  is  quite  another  thing ;  and  so  evade  the 
law  again. 

A  very  common'  mode  of  operation  is  for  a  fictitious 
firm  to  inclose  a  lithographed  note  to  some  one,  w^hose 
name  they  have  obtained  in  the  manner  already  de- 
scribed, stating  that  he  has  drawn  a  prize  valued  at 
$200 ;  that  the  rules  of  the  company  require  payment 
of  five  or  ten  per  cent,  upon  all  prizes  dl'awn ;  that, 
therefore,  on  receipt  of  $5  or  $10,  the  prize,  usually  a 

gold  watch,  will  be  sent  by  express. 
37 


578  The    Great   Metropolis. 

The  person  into  whose  hands  the  note  falls  knows  he 
has  never  bought  a  ticket,  but  presumes  he  has  been 
mistaken  for  somebody  else.  His  covetousness  is 
appealed  to.  He  is  tempted  into  dishonesty.  He 
becomes  a  party  to  the  fraud;  incloses  the  sum  de- 
manded, and  of  course  that  is  the  end  of  the  matter. 
He  is  naturally  ashamed  to  confess  his  weakness,  and 
the  swindlers  in  turn  profit  by  his  cupidity. 

Still  another  trick  is  to  send  a  circular  to  one  of  the 
greenhorns  in  the  country,  inclosing  a  ten-cent  note 
postal  currency  (genuine),  informing  him  that  if  he 
wants  one  hundred  of  the  notes  for  a  dollar,  he  can  get 
them  by  inclosing  the  amount.  The  packets  are  from 
$10  to  $100.  The  swindler  says  the  currency  will  do 
for  betting  or  making  a  show,  but  does  not  mention 
any  thing  about  passing  it  as  counterfeit  money. 
Greenhorn  sees  the  postal  currency  looks  well,  and  after 
investigation  learns  that  it  -is  good.  He  immediately 
jumps  at  the  idea  of  getting  ten  dollars  for  one  dol- 
lar, and  writes  with  inclosure.  It  is  needless  to  say  he 
never  receives  an  answer  to  his  letter,  and  does  not 
deserve  to. 

Drawings  for  money  are  advertised,  prizes  $5,  $10, 
$50,  and  $100,  up  to  $500  and  $1,000.  A  confidential 
circular  is  sent,  and  the  recipient  is  told  if  he  will  aid 
the  managers  in  making  their  lottery  known,  that  he 
shall  have  a  prize  of  $100.  Numerous  tickets  and 
circulars  are  forwarded  for  his  distribution.  Whether 
he  does  any  thing  with  them  or  not  he  pretends  to,  and 
writes  the  firm  to  that  effect.  The  swindlers  return 
answer  that  they  have  set  aside  $100  for  his  services; 
inquire  if  he  will  have  the  money  remitted  by  a  draft 
or  in  Treasury  notes ;  and  add  incidentally  that  five  peE 


Gift  Enterprises  and  Swindles.  579 

cent.^  according  to  the  inflexible  rule  of  the  firm,  is 
always  charged  for  such  advances. 

The  unsophisticated  fellow  sends  $5,  and  loses  it 
instead  of  getting  $95  for  nothing,  as  he  fondly  imagined. 

These  scoundrels  have  still  another  device.  They 
send  a  packet  of  tickets  for  a  lottery  to  anybody  whose 
name  they  have  procured,  requesting  that  he  will  return 
the  mqney  for  them  by  mail.  Of  course  no  man  is 
foolish  enough  to  do  that.  The  tickets  are  returned, 
left  in  the  Post-office,  or  destroyed  with  some  indig- 
nation. 

In  tw^o  or  three  weeks  another  circular  is  mailed  to 
the  effect  that  no  doubt  the  person  addressed  had  re- 
mitted the  money,  but  that,  owing  to  postal  detention 
or  failure,  it  had  not  been  received.  The  lottery  dealers 
inform  him  one  of  the  tickets  has  drawm  a  prize,  and 
that  it  wnll  be  forwarded  as  soon  as  the  percentage,  five 
per  cent.,  is  sent  to  the  address.  The  prize  named  is 
generally  $100  or  $200.  Verdant  hastens  to  mail  $5 
or  $10,  and  the  firm  is  silent  forever  after  as  the  grave, 

Sham  jewelry  establishments  and  one  dollar  stores 
are  the  abode  of  swindlers.  Every  thing  sold  there  is 
manufactured  for  the  purpose.  It  is  not  what  it  ap- 
pears ;  and  those  who  patronize  the  concerns  are 
wheedled  out  of  their  money  always.  They  are  sold 
fine  silver  and  gold  watches  that  prove  pewter  and 
brass  ;  and  yet,  by  a  quibble  or  some  kind  of  adroit- 
ness, no  hold  is  given  to  the  law. 

Mock  auctions,  though  not  so  common  as  they  used 
to  be,  are  still  carried  on  in  Broadway,  the  Bowery, 
Canal  street,  and  Third  avenue.  The  buyers  who  are 
in  the  stores  are  all  in  league  with  the  auctioneers. 
They  bid  up  the  goods,  praise  them,  declare  them  great 


580  The   Great  Metropolis. 

• 
bargains  ;  offer  to  give  greenhorn  twice  what  he  pays  if 

he  will  call  at  their  place  of  business ;  and  he  fancies 
they  are  strangers,  and  honest  like  himself.  The  auc- 
tioneer exhibits  one  article  ;  greenhorn  buys  it,  and  be- 
fore he  gets  it,  it  is  exchanged  for  something  else. 

A  good  gold  watch  is  offered,  and  knocked  down  for 
$20,  though  it  is  evidently  worth  five  times  the  amount. 
The  "watch  handed  over  to  the  countryman  is  pure  brass, 
its  value  $2  or  $3.  If  he  attempts  to  get  his  money 
back,  he  is  outs  worn  by  a  dozen  audacious  fellows,  who 
protest  before  high  Heaven  that  he  never  paid  more 
than  $2  for  the  watch.  They  threaten  him  too,  and  if 
he  is  not  a  man  of  nerve,  they  intimidate  him.  Gene- 
rally he  deems  himself  lucky  to  escape  with  an  unbroken 
crown,  and  is  in  no  mood  for  searching  after  the  money 
he  has  been  defrauded  of. 

New-York  must  have  several  hundreds  of  these  gift 
enterprises  and  swindling  establishments.  No  one  is 
responsible  for  them.  No  actual  legal  guilt  can  be  fixed 
upon  them.  The  police  have  broken  them  up  time  after 
time  ;  but  they  arise  in  another  place.  They  seem  per- 
fectly irrepressible.  They  will  continue  while  some  men 
are  dishonest  and  others  are  credulous ;  and  in  such  a 
city  as  New^-York  it  is  not  likely  they  will  ever  cease 
to  exist.  It  is  wonderful  in  this  day  of  general  educa-  j 
tion  and  universal  newspaper  circulation,  that  so  many 
persons  can  be  defrauded  by  such  shallow  tricks  as  those 
that  have  been  described. 

One  of  the  most  extraordinary  frauds  since  the  War 
was  that  of  the  Gettysburg  Asylum,  which  was  to  be  a 
home  for  invalid  and  crippled  soldiers  of  the  Union 
cause.  The  managers  had  actually  obtained  a  charter 
from  Pennsylvania  in   consideration   of  $10,000,  and 


Gift  Enterprises  and  Swindles.  5S1 

several  Northern  Generals  were  induced  to  lend  their 
names  to  the  scheme.  Magnificent  prizes  were  offered, 
a  brown-stone  mansion  in  Fifth  avenue,  a  farm,  a  lot  of 
splendid  diamonds,  $100,000  in  Treasury  notes,  and 
rosewood  pianos  among  the  rest.  Their  complete  value, 
according  to  the  advertisements,  was  $700,000,  and 
they  were  to  be  distributed  among  1,200,000  ticket- 
holders  at  $1  apiece. 

The  papers  were  full  of  the  lottery;  a  small  ship 
used  to  be  drawn  up  and  down  Broadway,  distributing 
circulars ;  every  effort  was  made  to  call  attention  to  the 
swindle.  About  one  million  tickets  were  sold,  when  it 
was  discovered  that  the  managers  of  the  enterprise 
were  notorious  lottery  dealers  in  Baltimore. 

Pennsylvania  withdrew  its  charter,  and  the  Generals 
their  names.  The  scheme  began  to  look  fraudulent,  but 
the  advertisements  were  kept  up  ;  a  concert  was  given 
at  Irving  Hall;  the  crowd  in  attendance  was  assured 
all  the  promises  would  be  redeemed.  A  fortnight  after, 
the  whole  thing  fell  to  pieces. 

The  public  lost  a  million,  and  to  this  day  not  a  single 
ticket  has  been  worth  the  paper  it  was  printed  on. 

For  all  who  feel  tempted  to  invest  money  in  lotteries 
and  prize  concerts,  it  would  be  well  to  remember  that 
any  man  who  proposes  to  give  more  than  dollar  for  dol- 
lar in  any  way  is  a  designing  scoundrel  seeking  for  a 
victim. 


CHAPTEE  LXYIII. 
THE   WICKEDEST  WOMAN    IN   THE    CITY. 

The  wickedest  woman  in  New  York,  according  to  the 
popular  verdict,  is  no  doubt  Madame  Restell,  the  famous 
or  infamous  '^  female  physician  and  professor  of  mid- 
wifery," as  she  is  styled  in  her  advertisements  and  in 
the  City  Directory. 

Some  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  ago  she  was  arrested 
and  tried  for  abortion ;  and  the  death  of  a  young  woman, 
who  had  been  put  under  the  Madame's  treatment  to 
conceal  a  story  of  sin  and  shame,  was  laid  at  the  mid- 
wife's door. 

Restell  lived  in  Chambers  street  then,  and  was  com- 
paratively obscure.  Her  trial  created  intense  excite- 
ment all  over  the  country.  The  newspapers  teemed 
with  its  details,  and  editorials  upon  editorials  were 
written,  reflecting  severely  and  eloquently  upon  the 
crime  with  which  she  was  charged.  Enough  evidence 
was  offered  to  prove  her  guilty,  not  only  of  the  parti cu-, 
lar  offense,  but  of  numerous  other  offenses  equally 
heinous. 

There  seemed  to  be  no  escape  for  her.  The  peniten- 
tiary stared  her  in  the  face,  and  if  the  law  and  justice 
had  been  administered,  she  would  have  been  sent  to 
Sing  Sing  for  the  remainder  of  her  natural  life.  But 
she  was  tried  in  New-York,  where  law  is  one  thing  and 
justice  another  3  where  he  who  has  the  most  money,  or 


The  Wickedest  Woman  in  the  City.  583 

the  political  influence  to  bear  upon  the  judge,  is  sure  to 
gain  his  case.  The  Madame  had  liberal  means,  acquired 
by  her  calling,  and  consequently  she  escaped.  She 
bought  witnesses,  judges,  juries,  it  is  alleged,  and  was 
duly  acquitted.  It  was  stated  at  the  time  that  she 
purchased  "justice  "  to  the  extent  of  $100,000,  and  that 
she  considered  it  one  6f  the  best  investments  she  had 
ever  made.  It  certainly  was,  if  preservation  from  life- 
long imprisonment  has  a  value  in  money. 

That  trial  of  Madame  Restell  was  a  superb  advertise- 
ment of  her  business.  It  made  her  known  everyw^here, 
and  has  probably  been  the  means  of  adding  to  her  for- 
tune twice  the  sum  she  expended. 

Some  years  after  the  trial  she  removed  up  town — it 
was  considered  very  far  up  then — having  purchased  a 
lot  in  the  Fifth  avenue,  corner  Fifty-second  street, 
and  erected  a  large  and  comfortable  brown-stone  front 
there.  She  is  said  to  have  made  the  purchase  through 
an  agent,  as  the  owner  of  the  real  estate  would  have 
declined  to  sell  her  the  property  on  account  of  her  pro- 
fession and  unenviable  notoriety. 

The  fashionable  thoroughfare  was  more  and  more 
occupied  with  elegant  mansions.  Real  estate  advanced 
in  price,  and  as  the  tide  of  society  went  toward  the 
Park,  many  and  munificent  were  the  offers  to  the  mid- 
wife to  dispose  of  her  property.  She  was  pressed  to 
take  five  times  the  amount  she  paid,  but  she  would  not. 
She  said  she  had  bought  the  place  for  a  home,  and  that 
she  intended  to  end  her  days  there.  No  importunity, 
no  display  of  bank  checks  or  bank  notes  could  change 
her  resolution. 

There  she  remains,  in  her  tall,  tawdry-looking  house  to 
this  day.     The  lots  at  the  side  of  her  dwelling  can  not 


584  The   Great  Metropolis. 

be  sold,  even  though  houses  built  on  them  would  be  too 
far  from  hers  to  catch  contamination.  They  have  been 
offered,  it  is  said,  at  one-quarter  of  what  those  on  the 
next  block  have  brought,  but  there  are  no  takers.  Law- 
suits have  been  threatened  against  Restell  to  dispossess 
her;  but  she  has  no  dread  of  law.  She  declares  she  is 
a  regular  physician,  and  as  much  entitled  to  practice  her 
profession  as  Dr.  Carnochan  or  Dr.  Dixon.  Those  who 
are  anxious  to  get  rid  of  her,  remember  her  triumph 
long  ago,  and  feel  that  she  is  too  rich  to  be  prose- 
cuted with  any  hope  of  success  on  the  Island  of  Man- 
hattan. 

Restell  is  so  notorious  that  she  is  more  talked  of  and 
written  about  than  even  Greeley.or  Stewart.  She  is  a 
godsend  to  correspondents  of  the  country  press,  and 
they  tell  such  tales  of  her  as  are  related  of  Messalina, 
Sabina  Pompeia,  and  other  notably  wicked  women  of 
antiquity,  in  the  interdicted  books  that  have  come  down 
to  us. 

She  does  precisely  what  might  be  expected  from  her 
calling,  and,  to  those  acquainted  with  her,  makes  no 
secret  of  it.  She  claims,  say  those  who  pretend  to 
know  her,  to  have  done  a  great  deal  of  good  by  prevent- 
ing the  errors  of  persons  of  position  from  coming  to 
light;  to  have  saved  many  good  but  unfortunate  women 
from  ruin  and  self-destruction;  to  have  increased  the 
sum  of  human  happiness  rather  than  to  have  diminished 
it.  Her  logic  is  peculiar,  and  the  investigation  of  her 
premises  would  open  a  series  of  moral  questions  that 
are  too  delicate  for  public  discussion.  She  declares  she 
has  possession  of  too  many  secrets  of  fashionable  fami- 
lies ever  to  be  disturbed  in  her  home;  that  she  is  a 
power  in  the  Great  City,  and  that  if  she  wished  she 


The  Wickedest  Woman  in  the  City.  585 

could  open  rich  and  fragrant  closets,  and  show  skeletons 
whose  existence  no  one  suspects. 

How  much  of  her  statements  is  true,  and  how  much 
mere  menace  and  gasconade,  only  she  and  her  patrons 
know.  There  is  good  reason  to  believe,  however,  that 
a  woman  who  has  spent  thirty  years  in  a  luxurious  and 
licentious  city  like  this,  and  followed  her  calling  perse- 
veringly,  must  have  knowledge  that  would  better  be 
hidden  from  those  who  would  keep  their  faith  in  human 
nature. 

Restell  advertises  her  medicines,  her  offices,  her 
hours,  and  her  peculiar  practice,  in  the  daily  news- 
papers, as  do  dozens  of  the  same  profession.  Everybody 
is  aware  of  her  business  and  her  location.  She  can  not 
be  accused  of  walking  in  darkness,  or  shrouding  herself 
in  mystery. 

She  is  reported  to  be  immensely  wealthy,  but  no 
doubt  her  wealth  is  exaggerated.  She  has  a  husband — • 
a  genuine  husband,  they  say — to  whom  she  was  married 
years  ago,  and  a  daughter  who  is  herself  a  wife.  He  is 
a  Russian  named  Lohman,  and  is  her  financier.  She  is 
English,  and  was  once  a  bar-maid  in  a  London  gin-shop. 
She  came  here  at  eighteen  ;  made  the  acquaintance  of  a 
physician  ;  obtained  a  smattering  of  medicine,  and 
conceived  the  notion  of  adopting  the  calling  she 
has  since  so  successfully  followed.  Before  she  entered 
upon  her  present  profession  she  was  for  some  time  a 
clairvoyant  physician  and  fortune-teller,  and  by  that 
trickery  got  a  start  in  Hfe.  It  is  said  she  has  much 
knowledge  and  skill,  which  she  might  easily  have  after 
twenty-five  years  of  such  a  specialty. 

Once  she  was  handsome,  I  understand ;  but  now,  in 
her  fiftieth  year,  she  is  a  gross,  coarse,  though  not 


586  The   Great   Metropolis. 

heartless-looking  woman,  with  black  eyes,  black  hair, 
barely  touched  with  gray,  and  might  play  Azucena  in 
the  opera  with  little  "  making  up."  Her  face  is  familiar 
to  many,  for  she  drives  in  the  Park  nearly  every 
pleasant  afternoon,  and  her  turnout  is  recognized  by  its 
vulgar  display.  She  would  be  mistaken  for  the  propri- 
etress of  a  bagnio,  with  her  flaring  colors,  her  glittering 
jewels,  her  tawdry  carriage,  for  she  is  the  embodiment 
of  the  principle  of  bad  taste  in  all  that  belongs  to  her. 

Her  house.  No.  657  Fifth  avenue,  might  well  be  her 
abode.  The  curtains  are  daubs  of  color,  and  every 
thing  about  it  indicates  vulgarity  and  prosperity. 
Those  who  have  been  inside  of  it  say  gilt  and  gaudiness 
are  visible  from  cellar  to  garret.  It  is  not  at  all  the 
palace  it  is  proclaimed  to  be  in  the  country  papers. 
On  the  contrary,  it  is  rather  a  plain  house  for  the 
Avenue,  and  its  furniture  and  appurtenances,  probably, 
cost  less  than  those  of  hundreds  of  fashionable  dwell- 
ings in  that  quarter. 

The  Madame  has  no  society — she  is  a  perfect  pariah 
in  New-York — but  she  seems  to  enjoy  herself,  and  grow 
as  fleshy  as  if  she  had  the  approval  of  a  good  conscience, 
and  lived  a  life  of  innocence  and  good  deeds.  She  is 
fond  of  making  money ;  her  practice  is  worth  $30,000  a 
year  to  her;  but  it  is  said  she  gives  hberally  to  those 
who  are  poor  and  in  distress,  and  always  without  the 
slightest  ostentation.  She  is  reported  to  have  sheltered 
many  a  poor  girl  from  the  pursuit  of  libertines,  and  to 
have  restored  not  a  few  to  the  homes  from  which,  in  a 
moment  of  weakness  and  passion,  they  had  strayed. 

Let  us  hope  this  is  so,  for  it  is  pleasant  to  believe 
that  those  who  are  thought  the  wickedest  have  redeem- 
ing traits. 


The  Wickedest  Woman  in  the  City.  587 

This  tall  brown-stone  dwelling  in  the  Avenue  could 
tell  ^vhat  would  make  sensation  stories  for  many  years, 
if  it  had  the  gift  of  tongues.  Whenever  I  pass  it,  it 
seems  to  cast  a  deeper  shadow  than  any  other  house, 
and  a  sense  of  chilliness,  such  as  comes  from  opened 
vaults  in  the  graveyard,  to  steal  from  its  grim  doorways 
and  windows  hung  with  showy  curtains,  which  shut  in 
what  few  of  us  dare  believe;  and  none  of  us  care  to  see. 


CHAPTER  LXIX. 
THE    MATRIMONIAL    BROKERS. 

Matrimonial  brokers  are  of  recent  origin  in  New-York. 
They  seem  to  prosper  and  decline,  to  flourish  and  fail 
periodically,  as  if  affected  by  agencies  too  subtle  for 
detection.  Just  at  present,  the  season  appears  unfavor- 
able. They  may  have  an  active  business  ;  but  they  do 
not  advertise  it  as  they  often  have  done.  Possibly  they 
have  become  so  well  established  that  patronage  flows  in 
upon  them  without  publication  of  their  calling.  The 
morning  papers  now  contain  few  advertisements  inform- 
ing the  people  where  they  can  obtain  excellent  wives 
and  husbands,  and  thus  secure  their  comfort  and  happi- 
ness for  life  at  very  small  expense.  In  the  Spring, 
printers'  ink  will  be  used  more  liberally ;  for  then  the 
birds  choose  their  mates,  and  why  shouldn't  men  and 
women  go  to  the  brokers,  pay  $5,  and  be  blessed  ? 

The  advertisements — we  advertise  every  thing  in  New- 
York, — are  usually  after  the  following  fashion  : — 

"  Marriage. — Young  ladies  and  gentlemen  desirous 
of  being  wisely  and  happily  married,  will  consult  their 
interest  by  applying  to  the  undersigned,  who  gives  all 
his  attention  to  this  branch  of  business,  and  who  has 
already  been  very  successful  in  bringing  together 
persons  adapted  to  each  other  by  similarity  of  taste, 
temperament,  and  sympathy.  Terms  reasonable.  All 
communications  strictly  confidential. 

"  Henry  Hymen,  No. Broadway." 


The  Matrimonial  Brokers.  589 

"  Wedded  Happiness  Desired. — It  iswell  known  that 
nothing  conduces  so  much  to  happiness  in  Hfe  as  a  proper 
marriage.  To  avoid  all  mistakes  in  selecting  partners, 
persons  of  either  sex,  who  contemplate  matrimony, 
should  call  at  once  on  George  Jacobs, 

Matrimonial  Broker,  No. Bleecker  street. 

'^  N.  B. — Mr.  Jacobs  has  the  best  of  opportunities  and 
the  amplest  facilities  for  accommodating  his  patrons. 
He  has  had  large  experience,  and  can  say  without 
vanity,  that  he  has  made  matches  for  which  hundreds 
of  ladies  and  gentlemen  are  eternally  grateful  to  him. 
They  have  acknowledged  their  gratitude  in  autograph 
letters,  which  will  be  shown  to  his  patrons  if  desired." 

"Matrimonial  Brokers. — John  Johnson  &  Co.,  No. 
-,  Bowery,  offer  their  services  to  ladies  wishin 


agreeable  and  wealthy  husbands,  or  to  gentlemen 
desiring  beautiful,  rich,  and  accomplished  wives.  They 
arrange  interviews  or  correspondence  between  parties, 
and  leave  nothing  undone  to  insure  a  marriage  that  will 
result  to  the  satisfaction  of  all.  The  success  that  has 
heretofore  crowned  their  efforts,  induces  them  to  believe 
they  have  a  firm  hold  upon  the  public  confidence.  They 
respectfully  solicit  a  continuance  of  patronage." 

One  would  hardly  think  such  advertisements  could 
attract  customers.  The  idea  of  seeking  marriage  before 
one  has  experienced  the  affection  that  leads  to  it,  seems 
unnatural  to  persons  who  regard  the  relation  of  the  sexes 
sentimentally.  "  But  the  majority  of  mortals — I  mean 
men — are  matter-of-fact,  and  look  upon  every  thing  in  a 
purely  practical  way.  They  marry  as  they  buy  a  house 
or  sell  a  horse,  invest  in  real  estate  or  go  abroad.     The 


590  The    Great   Metropolis. 

reason  they  remain  unwedded  is  because  they  don't  find 
time  to  look  for  a  wife.  If  any  one  finds  her  for  them, 
and  throw  her  in  their  way,  they  take  her  as  they  would 
any  piece  of  property  that  seems  desirable. 

Matrimonial  brokerage  is  merely  match-making  sys- 
tematized. The  brokers  do  for  money  what  amateurs 
do  for  excitement  and  from  a  passion  for  managing. 
They  have  an  uncertain  trade,  but  yet  more  business 
than  would  be  supposed.  They  don't  expect  much 
custom  from  home,  or  from  cities  generally ;  but  look 
for  it  from  the  country  people,  to  w^iom  they  send 
circulars  soliciting  patronage.  The  marriages  arranged 
by  brokers  rarely  turn  out  well ;  but  that  happens  so 
frequently  under  all  circumstances  that  it  may  be  un- 
just to  the  profession  to  make  them  responsible  for  it. 
There  have  been  instances  of  what  are  known  as  happy 
marriages  brought  about  by  these  gents,  whose  mode 
of  procedure  is  interesting. 

Peter  Pindar  lives  in  Chenango  or  Cataraugus  county, 
and  comes  to  town.  He  has  often  read  Jacobs's  or 
Johnson  &  Co.'s  circulars  and  advertisements,  and  they 
have  put  the  notion  of  a  wife  into  his  head.  He  has  a 
small  farm;  is  35  or  36  years  of  age;  is  in  ordinarily 
comfortable  circumstances;  likes  w^omen;  but  is  shy, — 
afraid  of  them,  indeed ;  and  consequently,  he  has  never 
gotten  along  with  them.  It  has  often  occurred  to  Peter 
that  it  would  be  convenient  to  have  a  wafe ;  but  the 
trouble  and  difficulty,  as  he  imagines,  of  procuring  one, 
have  always  stood  in  his  way.  "  If  I  could  get  some 
fellow  to  do  the  courting,"  Peter  has  said  to  himself, — ■ 
never  recalling,  because  he  has  never  read,  the  sad  story 
of  Paolo  and  Francesca, — '^  I'd  been  a  husband  long 
ago.     But  this  popping  the  question  I'm  not  equal  to. 


The   Matrimonial    Brokers.  591 

It  requires  a  chap  of  more  courage  than  I  can  muster." 
He  reads  over  the  advertisements  until  he  has  them 
all  by  heart.  They  impress  him  deeply.  The  oppor- 
tunity he  has  sought  seems  to  be  at  hand.  He  goes  to 
the  broker's,  and  announces  the  object  of  his  visit.  The 
broker  is  always  distrustful  of  strangers,  fearing  they 
are  not  sincere.  But,  after  a  few  minutes'  talk  he  sees 
that  Peter  is  too  unsophisticated  to  be  guilty  of  a  ruse. 
The  broker  soon  puts  his  customer  at  ease ;  says  he 
knows  a  number  of  elegant  and  accomplished  ladies 
who  will  suit  him  exactly.'^ 

"  Perhaps  I  don't  know  what  an  elegant  and  accom- 
plished lady  is,"  observes  Peter,  "  but  I'm  afraid  it  is 
not  exactly  the  sort  I  want.  I'd  like  a  kind  o'  nice, 
good  wdfe,  that  Avouldn't  put  on  too  much  style,  and 
look  down  on  a  fellow  because  he  wasn't  quite  as  good 
as  her." 

"  Certainly ;  you  need  a  good,  domestic  woman  who 
loves  her  own  fireside  and  is  bound  up  in  her  chil- 
dren." 

"  Well,  if  I  had  it  my  w^ay,"  hesitatingly  remarks 
Pindar,  "  I'd  rather  she  wouldn't  have  any  children  that 
wasn't  mine." 

"  Precisely.  I  mean  yours,  my  dear  sir.  I  wish  to 
say,  wdien  she  had  made  you  the  happy  father  of  a  beau- 
tiful offspring,  that  she  w^ould  devote  herself  to  the 
family ;  be  an  angel  in  her  home  ;  a  presence  of  love 
and  peace,  filling  it  with  sunshine,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing." 

"  Oh,  yes,  that  is  it,"  responds  Pindar,  caught  by  the 
cheap  rhetoric  of  the  broker  ;  "  that's  what  I  want,  and 
will  pay  for." 
'  '^1  have  a  lady  in  my  mind,  now — I  saw  her  this 


592  The  Great   Metropolis. 

morning — who  will  be  all  you  desire.  I  shall  charge 
you  $10  for  this  interview.  If  w^e  consummate  the 
marriage,  you  will  of  course  pay  more.  Our  regular 
price  is ." 

"  I'll  do  the  handsome  thing.  I'll  give  $100  cash 
down." 

"  Come  day  after  to-morrow,  Mr.  Pindar,  and  I'll  tell 
you  the  result  of  my  negotiation.  Be  here  at  11 
o'clock." 

Soon  as  Pindar  has  gone,  the  broker  takes  a  letter 
from  a  draw^er,  and  reads  : — 

^^  Dear  Sir — I  should  be  willing  to  accept  a  husband 
who  could  come  well  recommended ;  w^ho  could  provide 
for  me  handsomely ;  who  had  good  habits  ;  was  w^ell 
educated  ;  and  w^as  of  a  domestic  turn.  I  have  some 
reputation  for  beauty  and  accomplishment ;  am  young, 
although  no  longer  a  silly  girl,  and  w^ould,  I  think,  be 
an  ornament  to  a  well-regulated  household. 

"  Sincerely,  Bessie  Baker." 

The  broker  drops  a  line  to  Miss  Baker,  soliciting  an 
interview.  She  comes,  and  is  not  what  might  be  antici- 
pated from  her  note.  She  is  probably  four  or  five-and- 
thirty  ;  has  a  thin  face,  faded  blue  eyes,  high  cheek- 
bones ;  is  freckled,  and  any  thing  but  handsome  or  ele- 
gant. She  talks  rapidly;  and  is  intelligent, -though  not 
very  delicate  or  sensitive.  She  has  been  a  teacher  and 
a  seamstress ;  has  had  a  hard  struggle  with  life  ;  and, 
seeing  the  broker's  advertisement  one  day,  was  tempted 
to  write  him  by  way  of  experiment. 

An  interview  is  arranged  for  her  and  Pindar  in  the 
private  office.     They  meet,  and  are  both  disappointed. 


The   Matrimonial   Bkokers.  593 

"  I  would  never  have  him,"  she  thinks.  "  I  would 
not  marry  her  for  any  thing,"  he  says  to  himself. 

After  half  an  hour's  conversation,  they  find  themselves 
mistaken.  They  rather  like  each  other.  He  proves  to 
be  candid,  upright,  independent,  good-hearted ;  she, 
amiable,  affectionate,  loyal,  truthful.  When  they  have 
been  acquainted  three  days,  they  believe  they  can  get 
along  together.  Pindar  pays  his  $100  to  the  broker  most 
willingly  ;  takes  Bessie  Baker  to  Chenango  as  his  wife ; 
and  they  have  lived  comfortably,  rearing  pumpkins  and 
babies  ever  since. 

Not  seldom,  men  who  have  mistresses  they  wish  to 
get  rid  of  apply  to  the  matrimonial  broker,  and  pay 
handsomely  for  the  procurement  of  husbands.  This 
branch  of  the  business,  it  is  claimed,  requires  unusual 
exertion  and  adroitness,  and  $500  is  asked  for  the  serv- 
ice. The  man  who  is  a  candidate  for  marriage  has  no 
suspicion  of  the  woman.  She  tells  an  ingenious  story  ; 
proclaims  herself  a  widow — the  broker  indorsing  all  her 
stories — and,  by  her  tact  and  shrewdness,  completely 
deceives  him.  The  marriage  is  consummated,  and  strange 
to  say,  is  sometimes  happy ;  the  wife  resolving  upon, 
and  adhering  to,  a  change  for  the  better,  after  being 
invested  with  the  dignity  and  bearing  the  responsibility 
of  wedlock. 

The  brokers  are  not  men  of  very  high  principle. 
They  are  willing  to  make  money  in  almost  any  way. 
When  they  have  an  application  for  a  wife,  they  are  cer- 
tain to  supply  the  demand.  They  usually  enjoy  the 
acquaintance  of  a  number  of  adventuresses — women  of 
doubtful  reputation  and  uncertain  character.  The  bro- 
ker makes  an  appointment  for  them  ;  and,  as  they  have 
city  manners,  style  in  dress,  and  much  self-assertion, 
38 


594  The   Great   Metropolis. 

they  are  likely  to  make  an  impression  upon  some  honest 
countryman's  heart.  He  marries  one  of  them,  perhaps  ; 
or,  if  he  does  not,  he  forms  a  relation  that  he  afterwards 
regrets.  He  is  threatened  with  exposure  and  punish- 
ment, and  is  compelled  to  compromise  by  liberal  pay- 
ments. Sometimes  he  is  surprised  by  a  fictitious  hus- 
band, who  demands  blood,  but  is  finally  persuaded  to 
take  money  instead.  The  broker  makes  sure  of  his 
commission,  and,  after  that,  he  does  not  concern  himself 
about  the  future  or  the  status  of  the  couple  he  has  intro- 
duced to  each  other. 

The  unions  made  by  the  brokers  are,  as  I  have  said, 
unfortunate  for  the  most  part.  The  parties  enter  into 
them  without  understanding  each  other's  character  or 
antecedents.  They  quarrel  and  go  apart,  denouncing 
the  means  used  to  bring  them  together.  In  a  number 
of  divorce  cases  in  the  courts,  it  has  been  shown  that 
the  couple  seeking  separation  became  acquainted  through 
the  matrimonial  brokers. 

The  broker  is  always  a  pretender  and  a  trickster; 
tells  more  falsehoods  than  is  needful  for  his  trade  ;  de- 
scribes fine  women  he  never  saw ;  boasts  of  his  corre- 
spondence with  the  members  of  the  best  society ;  con- 
tradicts and  condemns  himself — or  would  in  dealing 
with  a  man  of  the  w^orld — fifty  times  an  hour.  He  is 
j)erpetually  tempted  to  become  a  maker  of  assignations  ; 
to  dupe  honest  rustics  ;  to  palm  off  demireps  and  wan- 
tons for  ladies  ;  to  swindle  all  who  trust  him ;  and,  I 
am  sorry  to  say,  he  almost  invariably  yields  to  the 
temptation  without  a  struggle. 

Recently,  in  New-York,  matrimonial  brokerage  has 
largely  passed  into  the  hands  of  women,  who  advertise 
themselves  as  fortune-tellers  and  clairvoyant  physicians. 


The  Matrimonial  Brokers.  595 

The  brokers  are  growing  less  matrimonial,  and  more  and 
more  mercenary  agents  for  assignation.  Therefore  they 
do  not  advertise  as  they  did  in  the  public  prints ;  but 
depend  upon  circulars  and  anonymous  communications. 
They  may  change  their  tactics  any  time ;  become  less 
dishonest  and  unprincipled  ;  but,  just  now,  the  time  does 
not  presage  improvement  in  a  calling  that  can  never 
have  any  legitimate  success  in  the  United  States. 


CHAPTEE  LXX. 
HERALDRY    ON    THE    HUDSON. 

Many  of  our  Republican  Americans  show  such  a  silly 
passion  for  titles  and  titled  persons,  both  at  home  and 
abroad,  that  it  is  not  singular  they  have  a  S6yi3ret  longing 
for  lineage  of  their  own.  Pretension  having  always  been 
a  characteristic,  indeed  a  part,  of  vulgarity,  it  is  very  nat- 
ural that  ignorant  men  who  have  suddenly  grown  rich 
should  wish  others  to  believe  they  have  distinguished 
ancestors  and  patrician  blood  in  their  plebeian  veins. 
Still,  it  would  not  seem  probable  that  such  persons 
would  reveal  their  weakness;  though  they  might  pay 
liberally  for  a  coat  of  arms  when  they  remember  they 
began  life  in  a  coat  without  arms. 

New-York  furnishes  facilities  for  the  good  people  that 
have  been  so  busy  in  making  a  fortune  that  they  have 
forgotten  who  their  ancestors  were.  It  has,  drolly 
enough,  an  office  of  Heraldry  in  Broadway,  where  the 
socially  ambitious  and  the  pecuniarily  prosperous  are 
informed,  for  a  certain  consideration,  of  the  past  glories 
of  the  family.  Y^ou  would  imagine  that  any  person  who 
felt  an  interest  in  descent,  and  was  anxious  to  have  a 
noble  lineage,  would  know  more  of  his  ancestors  than 
entire  strangers  ;  but  it  is  not  so. 

The  managers  of  the  Heraldry  office  are  learned  and 
ingenious  gentlemen,  who  are  generous  enough  to  dis- 


Heraldry  on  the  Hudson.  597 

cover  his  forefathers.  They  have  the  history  of  all  the 
nobility  fresh  in  their  memory.  They  can  tell  you  all 
about  the  Norman  line  for  five  centuries ;  about  the 
Saxon  kings ;  about  the  very  complicated  Welsh  nobil- 
ity, and  even  the  still  more  mysterious  Milesian  royalty. 
If  you  have  any  doubt  of  their  erudition,  question  them 
respecting  escutcheons,  tinctures,  charges,  the  dexter, 
middle  and  sinister  chiefs,  the  honor,  fess  and  nombril 
points,  pales,  bends,  chevrons,  crosses,  saltires,  lines 
engrailed,  invected,  nebuly,  raguly,  and  dancette,  and 
you  will  be  amazed  at  their  bewildering  acquirements. 
Gules,  azure,  sable,  vert,  purpure,  and  tenny,  color  their 
fluent  talk. 

They  can  convince  any  man  of  ordinary  vanity  that 
he  has  the  blood  of  the  Plantagenets  and  Nevils  in  his 
veins,  and  that  Vandyke  and  Lely  portraits  of  his  pro- 
genitors are  looking  out  of  costly  galleries  across  the 
sea.  I  have  said  any  man ;  but  any  woman  would  have 
been  apter,  for  women  are  by  nature  aristocratic,  and 
care  far  more  for  lineage  than  do  the  sterner  sex. 

The  longing  to  be  thought  distinguished,  it  is  gener- 
ally observed,  is  in  proportion  to  the  conviction  that 
distinction  is  impossible.  People  talk  most  of  their 
"family"  who  have  none.  John  Jenkins,  who  started 
as  a  huckster,  and  grew  rich  in  spite  of  stupidity,  is  per- 
suaded by  Mrs.  Jenkins  to  set  up  for  a  gentleman  with 
generations  of  culture  and  luxury  behind  him. 

Mrs.  Jerusha  Murphy  served  a  long  and  honorable 
apprenticeship  as  a  servant  girl,  but  when  she  married 
Murphy  she  changed  her  name  to  Juliette,  and  discov- 
ered that  her  husband  w^as  a  direct  descendant  of  one 
of  the  countless  kings  of  Ulster.  Murphy,  it  must  be 
confessed,  had  degenerated  somewhat,  for  he  made  his 


598  The   Great  Metropolis. 

appearance  in  New- York  as  a  genius  who  long  hesitated 
in  a  choice  of  callings  between  prize-fighting  and  bar- 
tending, but  selected  the  latter,  as  it  was  more  sooth- 
ing to  his  sensibilities. 

The  Heraldry  office  has  been  established  here  for 
many  years,  and  is  a  success.  It  is  supported  by  the 
class  of  absurd  people'  who  are  aspiring  to  a  recog- 
nized position,  who  have  more  money  than  ancestors, 
and  wish  to  exchange  a  little  of  the  former  for  a  good 
deal  of  the  latter.  The  capital  invested  in  the  office  is 
trifling.  It  requires  only  two  or  three  men  who  can 
look  serious  over  a  farce ;  a  collection  of  old  volumes 
full  of  shields,  devices,  and  mottoes;  a  lot  of  genealogical 
trees  hung  up  on  the  walls  in  antique-looking  frames, 
and  an  uncertain  number  of  histories  and  chronicles, 
including  Froissart,  Burke's  Peerage,  and  kindred 
works. 

The  business  of  the  establishment  is  managed  in  this 
v^ise  : — 

An  applicant  for  a  "family"  enters  and  makes  known 
his  errand.  A  bland  and  smiling  person  asks  the 
applicant's  name. 

'-  Smithers,"  is  the  answer. 

"  Smithers,  Smithers !  The  Smithers  are  an  old 
family,  Gaelic  originally,  but  the  line  has  nearly  died 
out.  It's  so  with  all  the  very  old  families.  I'm  glad 
to  see  one  of  their  lineal  descendants.  What  was  your 
mother's  name,  Mr.  Smithers  ?" 

"  Flurry." 

"  Flurry  ?  Ah,  yes.  Are  you  of  the  Scotch  or 
English  Flurrys  ?" 

"  Hang  me  if  I  know !  It  was  what  I  came  here  to 
find  out.     I  don't  know  nothin'  about  my  ancestors; 


Heraldry  on  the  Hudson.  599 

but  my  wife  says  she's  got  'em,  and  that  I  must  have 
'em  to.o." 

"  Your  wife  is  correct.  The  Flurrys  are  a  very 
noble  family  of  full  Norman  descent,  De  Fleury  was  the 
name  before  the  Conquest,  and  for  nearly  a  century  after. 
I  shall  soon  be  able  to  trace  your  lineage  from  the 
battle  of  Hastings  to  the  present  time." 

"  Gad,  I'm  glad  of  that.  Mrs.  Smithers'll  give  me  a 
little  peace. now  that  she  can  git  a  crist  on  her  carriage. 
She's  bullragged  me  about  the  darned  thing  for  a  hull 
year." 

^'  The  fee  for  insuring  investigation  is  $20,  Mr. 
Smithers.     When  do  you  want  your  tree  ?" 

''  What  kind  o'  tree  ?  There's  no  use  o'  plantin' 
trees  'afore  our  house.     The  worms  allers  kills  'em." 

"I  mean  your  genealogical  tree." 

"  I  never  heard  of  that  sort  o'  tree.  Is  it  any  thing 
like  hick'ry  ?" 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  mean  the  line  of  your  ancestors ; 
who  they  were ;  what  they  did ;  what  reigns  they 
flourished  in." 

''  Oh  ves,  I  understand  now.  But  I  shouldn't  never 
think  of  callin'  that  a  tree." 

"  When  would  you  like  to  have  your  lineage,  your 
ancestors  made  out?" 

"  Oh,  any  time  will  suit  me.  I've  got  the  job  off  my 
hands,  and  the  old  woman  can  look  after  the  rest  of  the 
rubbish." 

"  Biit  it  is  well  to  fix  a  date.  Do  you  care  to  have 
the  papers  mad-e  out  before  the  end  of  next  week  ?" 

"  No  ;  take  your  time,  and  do  it  well." 

^*  Be  sure  we  shall.     The  price  of  the  work  will  be 


600  The    Great   Metropolis. 

"  Go  ahead  ;  I'm  willin'.  Make  us  out  a  good  first- 
class  tree,  and  Fll  pay  you  well.  If  you  can  find  any 
pious  old  duck  that  only  hurried  or  banged  about  gen- 
erally, put  him  in ;  for  my  wife's  mighty  fond  of  havin' 
some  of  that  kind  in  the  family.  She  calls  it  sufferin' 
for  opinion's  sake;  though  I  can't  see  why  the  devil 
they  didn't  change  their  opinion  if  they  got  into  any 
row  about  it." 

"  No  doubt  the  De  Fleury's  could  boast  of  haughty 
prelates  after  the  Reformation,  who  were  earnest  in 
their  creed,  even  at  the  stake.  I  think  I  shall  have 
no    difficulty  in  showing    you  several  illustrious    mar- 

tyrs." 

"  Well,  do  so.  And  if  you  can  get  hold  of  any  chaps 
that  died  in  war,  spot  'em.  We  want  a  few  of  that  sort 
too.  At  least  Sarah  Jane  says  so;  and  she  knows 
what's  w^anted  much  better  than  me." 

^'Come  on  the  14th,  Mr.  De  Fleury,  and  you'll  know 
all  about  your  honorable  ancestors." 

"  Smithers's  my  name." 

"  Yes,  now ;  but  the  old  family  name  was  different. 
Call  on  the  day  named,  and  you'll  find  every  thing  pre- 
pared." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smithers  call  on  the  14th,  and  she 
learns  to  her  delight,  but  not  to  her  surprise  apparently, 
that  one  of  her  ancestors  lost  his  life  in  defending  the 
Black  Prince  at  Crecy. 

Smithers  objects  to  that.  He  says  he  don't  want  any 
'^niggers"  in  his  family,  and  won't  have  them.     . 

The  man  of  escutcheons  informs  him  the  Prince  was 
the  eldest  son  of  Edward  III.,  and  called  black  from  the 
color  of  his  armor,  not  of  his  complexion,  which  com- 
poses Smithers,  who  pays  his  $100,  and  goes  off  in  excel- 


Heraldry  ox  the  Hudson.  601 

lent  spirits,  having  heard  there  were  no  darkies  among 
his  ancestors,  and  because  he  believes  this  to  be  a 
white  man's  government. 

Mrs.  Nancy  Maginnis  pays  a  visit  to  the  office,  and 
states  to  the  manager  that  her  family's  genealogical  tree 
had  been  destroyed  by  fire  one  month  before  (she  is 
from  Southern  Illinois,  and  never  knew  who  her  grand- 
mother was),  and  she  is  anxious  to  have  it  made  out 
again. 

"  Maginnis  !  That  is  a  pure  Norman  name,  running 
back  to  the  ninth  and  tenth  centuries.  The  Maginnises 
were  of  the  Latin  race,  and  were  called  Maginniensis  as 
late  as  the  battle  of  Temsford,"  is  the  declaration  of  one 
of  the  clerks  after  tumbling  over  half  a  dozen  large  and 
dusty  tomes. 

'^  Yes,  that  is  correct,"  she  responds.  "  Maginnie- 
senses  is  the  family  name.  My  dear  old  grandmother 
told  me  of  the  title  of  some  of  our  family  in  the  time  of 
the — I  forget  the  king's  name." 

"  Ethelbert,  I  presume,"  is  the  ready  reply.  "  He 
was  one  of  the  Anglo-Saxons  and  gave  your  line  much 
trouble." 

"  Yes,  he  did.  He  was  a  very  wicked  man,  that 
Ethelbert,  and  I  hate  him  even  now." 

"  I  see  you  have  the  true  Norman  spirit.  Madam, 
that  never  forgives  an  enemy  of  your  house.  I  detect 
your  Norman  lineage  in  the  peculiar  curve  of  your  nose 
(her  nose  is  a  confirmed  pug),  and  the  sparkle  of  your 
eye." 

"  How  skilled  you  gentlemen  are  in  tracing  gentle 
blood.  Few  persons  could  have  told  at  first  glance  that 
I  was  of  Norman  extraction,  and  yet  I  am  thoroughly 
such." 


602  The   Great   Metropolis. 

"  Oh,  yes.  Madam,  we  have  so  much  to  do  with  noble 
families  we  recognize  them  at  a  glance." 

Mrs.  Maginnis  pays  her  $100  with  exceeding  satis- 
faction, and  shows  her  bill  to  all  her  common-place 
friends,  for  the  next  twelve  months,  when  they  visit  her 
expensive  but  tawdry  new  stone-front  in  the  Avenue. 

Such  are  the  foolish  persons  who  visit  the  Heraldry 
office.  They  pay  $20  to  $25  usually  before  the  work 
is  begun,  and  $100  after  it  is  completed.  The  managers' 
labor  is  little  more  than  a  make-believe.  They  twist 
the  name  of  any  of  their  patrons  into  some  form  that 
figures  in  history,  or  is  known  in  the  peerage,  and  give 
lineage  therefrom.  Muggins  is  made  De  Mogyns ; 
Jones  is  made  John  or  Jean,  and  derived  from  King 
John  of  France  or  England  ;  Thompson  is  made  Temps 
fils,  the  son  of  Temps,  a  powerful  baron,  and  so  on  to 
the  last  limit  of  absurdity. 

Who  would  believe  people  claiming  to  be  sensible 
could  be  so  cajoled  by  their  vanity?  They  learn  noth- 
ing of  those  who  have  gone  before  them ;  but  they  may 
be  certain  there  have  been  and  are  still  fools  in  the 
family. 


CHAPTEELXXI. 

THE    CHILD-ADOPTING    SYSTEM. 

It  seems  as  a  rule  that  persons  who  don't  want  chil- 
dren have  many,  and  that  those  who  want  them  very 
much,  have  none. 

Nature  is  kind  in  most  things  ;  but  like  fortune,  she 
oftenr  gives  to  those  who  have,  and  withholds  from  those 
who  need.  "  A  poor  man  for  children,"  is  a  proverb 
constantly  verified.  There  is  Hardtoil,  who  watches 
with  anxiety  and  regret  his  steadily  increasing  family ; 
wishes  he  had  fewer  mouths  to  feed,  and  more  to  fill 
them. 

His  neighbor  Crabtree  is  wealthy,  but  childless.  He 
sees  the  numerous  progeny  of  Hardtoil,  and  envies  him 
their  possession.  He  would  give  half  his  property  for 
one  of  the  rosy-cheeked  prattlers,  and  Hardtoil  would 
have  been  happy  if  his  last  three  babes  had  been  born 
to  the  rich  man  over  the  way. 

If  we  could  only  exchange  what  we  have  and  don't 
want  for  what  we  want  and  don't  have,  the  sum  of  con- 
tent in  the  World  would  be  largely  increased. 

Where  poverty  and  licentiousness  are  so  common  as  in 
New-York,  there  will  always  be  many  parents  who  are 
unable  to  provide  for  their  ofi*spring,  or  unwilling  to  ac- 
knowledge them.  Hence  the  baby-market  is  apt  to  be 
over-supplied,  though  at  times  the  demand  is  fully  equal 
to  the  supply.     As  we  have  no  foundling  hospitals  here, 


634  The  Great  Metropolis. 

as  they  have  in  Paris,  Moscow,  and  other  European 
cities,  where  infants  can  be  left  without  any  one  even 
knowing  who  leaves  them,  parents  get  rid  of  them  the 
best  w^'iy  they  can. 

Desertion  of  children  is  very  rare  among  Americans, 
but  quite  common  among  foreigners,  who,  first  landing 
in  New-York,  make  the  City  responsible  for  their  sins, 
as  if  they  were  its  own.  Ignorant,  indolent,  reckless, 
and  vicious  often,  they  are  indifferent  to  their  children, 
and  will  abandon  them  without  hesitation,  when  poverty 
presses  or  self-interest  demands.  It  is  they  who  leave 
babies  at  other  people's  doors;  who  expose  them  in  the 
street ;  w^ho  abandon  them  to  neglect,  or  even  mm'der 
them,  to  avoid  the  expense  or  trouble  of  taking  care  of 
them. 

When  American  women  abandon  their  children  it  is 
usually  from  the  shame  of  their  begetting,  though  the 
feeling  of  maternity  not  seldom' proves  stronger  than  the 
sense  of  dishonor.  Poor  girls,  without  protection  or  re- 
straining influences,  are  ahvays  being  led  astray  in  a 
great  city  like  this,  and  to  their  weakness  is  added  the 
responsibility  of  their  betrayer's  sins. 

Every  year  increases  the  number  of  child-murders  in 
New- York.  Public  attention  has  been  called  to  it  again 
and  again.  Foundling  hospitals  have  been  urged  as  a 
remedy  for  the  evil ;  but  many  of  the  timid-good  have 
holy  fears  that  the  establishment  will  encourage  the 
vice  it  is  proposed  to  abate.  From  this  apparently  ab- 
normal condition  of  things  the  system  of  child-adoption, 
or  adopting-out,  w^hich  is  designed  to  regulate  the  supply 
and  demand,  has  arisen,  and  is  carried  on  with  consid- 
erable activity  and  profit. 

The  morning  papers  contain  advertisments  every  day 


The  Child- Adopting  System.  605 

of  children  wanted  for  adoption  and  to  be  adopted.  The 
little  unknowns  are  highly  favored,  if  you  believe  the  ad- 
vertisements ;  such  adjectives  as  "  handsome,"  '^  bright," 
"  intelligent,"  ''  interesting,"  '^  healthy,"  being  applied 
to  them.  They  are  all  represented  as  ideal  babies,  quite 
the  kind  that  new  mothers  bear  every  day  in  the  year, 
and  which  are,  without  exception,  wonderful. 

When  examined,  they  frequently  contradict  what  has 
been  said  of  them.  The  little  beauties  become  flabby, 
blinking,  ill-shaped,  idiotic-looking  creatures,  that  seem 
so  self-disgusted  that  perhaps  they  would  go  back  to 
where  they  came  from,  if  they  were  not  afraid  they 
would  find  there  more  infants  like  themselves. 

Often,  however,  there  are  exceptions.  The  tiny 
strangers  are  evidently  of  fine  lineage.  You  see  the 
culture  and  superiority  that  preceded  them,  and  in  the 
delicate  features  trace  the  character  of  their  parents. 
Very  small  children  can  rarely  be  accused  of  comeliness  ; 
but  there  is  a  certain  conventional  standard  of  the  qual- 
ity which  serves  the  purpose.  The  baby's  fate  is  de- 
termined by  that.  If  it  is  less  homely  than  the  average 
of  children,  it  is  ten  times  as  apt  to  bo  adopted  as  if  it 
fell  below  that  average. 

The  advertisements  read  something  like  this  : — ■ 

"  Wanted — for  adoption  a  male  child  of  respectable 
parentage,  not  less  than  six  months,  nor  more  than  two 
years  old.  It  must  be  healthy,  intelligent,  and  good- 
looking.  Address  X  Y  Z,  station  C,  with  reference, 
address,  and  particulars." 

"  To  he  Adopted  Out. — A  beautiful,  bright  female  child, 
healthy,  quiet  and  interesting,  eight  months  old,  and 
every  way  desirable.    Any  gentleman  and  lady  wishing 


4^ 

606  The  Great  Metropolis. 

to  adopt  such  a  child  must  address  in  good  faith,  box 
No.  2,968,  General  Post-office  with  name,  address,  and 
circumstances." 

'^  To  he  Adopted  Out. — A  fine  healthy  male  child,   six 
weeks  old,  of  respectable  parentage.     It  can  be  seen  at 

No. Bowery,  between  the  hours  of  2  and   5   p.  m. 

Any  gentleman  or  lady  wishing  to  adopt  such  a  child 
would  do  well  to  apply  early,  as  the  beauty  and  winning 
qualities  of  the  babe  necessarily  insure  its  immediate 
adoption." 

"  Children  for  Adoption. — Madame  Pumpernickel,  No. 
-,  Sixth  street,  has  a  number  of  handsome,  healthy, 


and  promising  children  for  adoption.  Persons  anxious 
to  add  to  their  families  will  consutt  their  interests  by 
calling  on  Tuesdays,  Thursdays,  and  Saturdays.  Any 
lady  or  gentleman  having  children  for  adoption  can  find 
board  and  accommodations  for  them  at  Madame  P's.,  and 
can  make*  satisfactory  arrangements  to  that  end.  All 
business  communications  strictly  confidential." 

Sometimes  an  advertisement  appears,  that  sounds 
like  burlesque,  but  which  is,  no  doubt,  serious.  This, 
for  instance  : — 

'^  A  lady  and  gentleman  of  education  and  position, 
but  in  straitened  circumstances,  from  a  sudden  reverse 
of  fortune,  would  be  willing  to  part  with  a  beautiful  and 
fascinating  female  child,  of  two  months  old,  to  respect- 
*able  people,  who  will  agree  to  educate  it  carefully,  and 
rear  it  in  accordance  with  its  birth.  Its  parents  would 
not  be  deprived  of  their  dearly-beloved  babe,  even  in 
the  midst  of  their  painful  poverty,  were  they  not  on  the 


The  Child- Adopting  System.  607 

point  of  leaving  the  City  for  the  far  West,  where  the 
advantages    of   education  and  proper  accomplishments 
can  not  be  enjoyed." 
Or  this  :— 

'^  To  he  Adopted  Out. — A  lovely  female  babe,  aged  six 
weeks  and  nine  days,  of  highly  aristocratic  parentage. 
It  suddenly  became  an  orphan,  and  was  intrusted  to  a 
friend  of  the  family,  Avho  has  not  the  means  of  support- 
ing the  child  in  the  manner  it  has  been  accustomed  to. 
Address  Fashion,  No. — ,  Oliver  street.  N.  B.  None 
but  persons  of  unquestionable  respectability  need  apply. 
The  best  and  strongest  of  references  required." 

The  infants  of  whom  the  most  is  said  are  usually  the 
least  attractive.  Those  whose  parents  are  highly 
lauded  are  apt  to  prove  of  Milesian  extraction,  and  to 
be  in  the  market  on  account  of  the  low  price  of  babies 
and  the  high  price  of  whisky. 

I  have  heard  of  several  women  who,  having  gone  in 
quest  of  "  beautiful  children,"  returned  in  a  state  of 
dissatisfaction  bordering  on  disgust,  and  who  afterward 
declared  that  all  the  claim  the  infants  had  to  beauty 
consisted  in  bleared  eyes,  coarse  features,  and  scrofulous 
affections. 

Madame  Pumpernickel,  whose  genuine  name  I  refrain 
from  giving,  is  a  professional  adopter.  There  are  a 
number  of  her  calling  in  town,  and  £he  number  is  in- 
creasing. She  keeps  a  baby's  boarding-house  and  some- 
thing else.  She  knows  illegitimate  children  are  very 
numerous  here  ;  that  not  infrequently  their  parents  are 
persons  of  position,  and  that  she  can  make  something 
by  aiding  them  to  get  rid  of  the  evidence  of  their  inti- 
macy.    She  is  aware  that  after  leaving  the  child  they 


608  The  Great  Metropolis. 

will  not  inquire  for  it  further.  When  they  or  their 
agent  comes  she  consents  to  take  the  little  thing  for  a 
certain  consideration,  which  she  regulates  according  to 
the  means  or  position  of  the  parties  concerned.  She 
sometimes  has  a  dozen  or  twenty  children  on  hand 
at  a  time;  but  she  keeps  the  number  down  as  much  as 
possible. 

When  any  one  wants  to  lease  a  baby  with  the  madame, 
she  either  charges  a  fixed  sum,  or  so  much,  Avith  its 
board  for  a  certain  number  of  days  added.  The  cus- 
tomary rate  is  $100  to  $200  for  taking  the  child,  and 
$50  to  $100  for  disposing  of  it.  When  she  can  she 
advances  her  rate  two  or  three  hundred  per  cent.,  and 
so  drives  a  good  trade.  Her  interest  is  to  get  rid  of  the 
babies  as  soon  as  possible,  and  she  consults  her  interest, 
regardless  of  humanity. 

Children  seldom  stay  more  than  a  week  at  Madame 
Pumpernickel's.  If  they  are  not  sold  they  are  almost 
invariably  attacked  with  some  violent  illness  that 
carries  them  off  in  a  few  days.  The  very  disagreeable 
infants,  whom  no  one  wants,  are  most  exposed  to  fatal 
maladies.  The  madame  says  they  die  of  some  inherited 
ailment ;  but  it  is  very  well  known  she  either  starves 
them,  or  permits  them  to  perish  through  neglect.  The 
fact  is  so  notorious  that  complaint  has  been  made  to  the 
police,  who  have  arrested  the  professional  adopters,  and 
brought  them  before  the  so-called  courts  of  justice,  with 
which  New- York  is  favored.  Nothing  could  be  proved 
against  them.  There  were  no  witnesses,  none  procur- 
able at  least,  and  the  child-murderers  were  released  to 
continue  their  traffic  in  infant  life  and  death. 

The  homes  of  the  adopters  are  generally  in  some 
wretched  quarter  of  the   town,  and  in  some  building 


The  Child- Adopting  System.  609 

where  fresh  air  and  healthful  living  are  impossible. 
The  rooms  rented  are  meagerly,  not  to  say  meanly 
furnished ;  and  in  them  are  six,  eight,  or  twelve  infants, 
— little  specters  w^ho  look  as  if  they  would  die  at  once 
and  save  trouble  if  they  only  knew  how.  Their  keeper 
teaches  them  with  such  success  that  they  soon  wheeze  out 
of  their  wretched  little  lives,  and  are  thrust  into  a 
pauper's  coffin.  They  lie  in  little  beds  and  are  tied  in 
chairs  ;  cry  day  and  night  until  they  are  too  weak  and 
hungry  to  cry  any  longer,  when  they  fall  to  sucking 
their  little  soiled  fingers,  and  not  finding  the  dirt  very 
nourishing,  they  wink  and  twitch  their  little  pale  eyes 
and  slender  limbs,  and  then  stop  winking  and  twitching 
forevermore. 

The  adopters  are  ready  to  act  as  agents  for  the  getting 
of  babies  if  those  they  leave  don't  suit.  They  go  to  the 
private  lying-in  hospitals,  whose  patients  are  women 
that  have  not  been  married,  and  bargain  for  the  babes 
that  have  been  born,  or  advertise  for  the  kind  tKat  is 
wanted.  As  the  supply  is  greatly  in  excess  of  the 
demand,  the  children  are  found  without  difficulty.  The 
adopters,  as  I  have  stated,  are  opposed  to  keeping  on 
hand  a  supply  that  is  not  marketable,  and  a;S  they 
receive  none,  and  part  with  none,  except  for  what  they 
think  a  good  price,  their  business  can  hardly  be  a  losing 
one. 

The  baby  market  has  its  fluctuations,  like  any  other. 
In  the  Winter  babies  sell  higher,  because  it  costs  more 
to  take  care  of  them ;  they  are  more  liable  to  die,  and 
the  demand  is  greater.  During  the  hot  months  they 
decline  ;  for  few  citizens  are  in  town,  and  strangers  are 
not  good  customers.  Usually  the  price  of  an  infant  is 
very  variable ;  for  there  is  hardly  any  thing  that  the 

39 


610  The  Great  Metropolis. 

rightful  owner  would  be  so  disinclined  to  sell,  and  any 
other  person  would  care  so  little  to  buy. 

But  in  New-York,  quotations  can  be  depended  on  to 
a  large  extent.  A  really  good,  w^ell-conditioned,  first- 
class  babe  will  bring  $100,  when  the  market  is  not 
overstocked  ;  and  a  rather  inferior  but  healthy  and 
promising  article,  about  $50.  The  infant  trade,  strange 
as  it  may  seem,  is  growing  to  be  regular  here,  and 
extending  every  year.  It  is  not  impossible,  before  the 
century  is  over,  that  we  shall  have  children  quoted  on 
'Change,  and  prime,  first,  second,  and  third-rate  ones  as 
fixed  in  value  as  molasses,  wheat,  or  flour. 


CHAPTEE  LXXII. 
BAKKERS  AND  WALL  STREET  OPERATORS. 

After  Yanderbilt,  whose  portrait  has  been  given 
elsewhere,  Daniel  Drew  is  the  most  prominent  figure  in 
the  banking  quarter,  and  perhaps  the  most  reckless. 
Though  now  in  his  seventy-second  year,  he  is  as  ener- 
getic, persevering,  shrewd  (and  unscrupulous,  his 
enemies  would  add),  as  he  was  in  the  prime  of  life.  He 
gives  no  sign  of  physical  or  mental  failure,  notwith- 
standing his  constant  activity  and  the  perpetual  strain 
upon  his  brain  and  nerves. 

Drew  was  born  on  a  small  farm  in  Carmel,  Putnam 
county,  and  received  a  very  limited  education.  He 
learned  to  read,  write,  and  cypher  while  working  on  the 
sterile  land  his  father  owned ;  but  beyond  that  cared 
very  little  for  books.  At  fifteen  he  lost  his  father,  and 
at  once  determined  to  set  up  in  life  for  himself — a  step 
he  was  qualified  for  by  his  force  of  will,  strength  of 
character,  and  natural  astuteness,  very  remarkable  in 
one  so  young.  He  began  by  driving  cattle  to  market 
and  selling  them,  first  in  a  small  way,  but  gradually 
increasing  his  trade  until  it  grew  to  be  of  considerable 
value.  For  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  he  was  a  cattle- 
drover  ;  but,  after  he  had  reached  thirty-two,  he  moved 
to  this  City,  and  established  a  depot  for  their  sale, 
sending  agents  to  the  country  to  purchase  stock.     He 


612  The    Great   Metropolis. 

gained  money  rapidly,  and,  in  1834,  made  an  invest- 
ment, with  others,  in  a  steamboat,  which  resulted  in  a 
great  interest  in  the  transportation  of  passengers  on  the 
Hudson  River. 

Drew^'s  line  was  so  ably  managed  that  it  became 
popular,  though  it  entered  into  competition  with  the 
lines  owned  by  Vanderbilt  and  others.  The  rivalry 
was  very  sharp  for  a  long  while,  the  steamers,  at  one 
time,  carrying  passengers  from  here  to  Albany  at  a 
shilling  apiece.  Drew  was  a  large  stockholder  in  the 
company  formed  by  Isaac  Newton,  in  1840,  which  was 
the  origin  of  the  People's  Line.  He  refused  to  dispose 
of  his  vessels  when  the  Hudson  River  Railway  w^as 
completed,  though  his  friends  advised  him  to,  declaring 
he  would  be  ruined  if  he  did  not.  The  road  increased 
the  patronage  of  the  boats,  as  he  had  foreseen,  and  to 
this  day,  they  are  most  desirable  property.  The  Drew, 
finished  year  before  last,  is  the  finest  steamboat  that 
floats  on  any  interior  waters.  She  is  more  elaborate 
and  gorgeous  even  than  the  famed  Bristol  and  Provi- 
dence, running  between  New- York  and  Boston. 

For  ten  or  twelve  years  Drew  was  a  banker  and  stock 
broker,  having  formed  a  partnership  with  Nelson  Taylor 
and  his  son-in-law.  He  has  been  a  daring  and  active 
operator  in  Wall  street  ever  since,  and  is  the  most 
formidable  opponent  Vanderbilt  has  had.  He  lost 
$500,000  in  the  famous  Harlem  corner  some  years  ago ; 
but  he  is  not  likely  to  be  caught  so  again.  He  has 
long  been  a  heavy  stockholder  in  Erie  and  other  promi- 
nent roads,  and  he  plays  bull  and  bear,  and  sells  short 
and  long,  as  his  interest  demands,  quite  confounding 
those  who  don't  understand  his  multifarious  shifts. 

Drew's   foes   accuse   him  of  numerous   "irregular" 


I 


Bankers  and  Wall   Street   Operators.       613 

transactions ;  but  he  claims  that  he  does  nothing  that 
the  Stock  Exchange  and  Wall  street  morals  do  not 
sanction.  He  has  a  wide  reputation  for  charity,  having 
founded  the  Drew  Theological  Seminary  at  Morris,  N. 
J.,  by  giving  it  half  a  million  of  dollars,  and  having 
contributed  to  various  religious  and  educational  institu- 
tions. 

Drew  is  in  no  way  noticeable  in  face  or  figure.     He  is 
six  feet  high,  slender,  with  limbs  loosely  put  together, 
and    rather   awkward   in   his    movements.      He   has  a. 
rustic  appearance,  is  careless  in  his  dress,  and  uncon- 
ventional in  his  manners. 

David  Groesbeck,  of  the  firm  of  David  Groesbeck  & 
Co.,  the  w^ell-known  bankers  in  Broad  street,  is,  like 
Drew,  wholly  self-made.  He  was  born  in  Albany 
county ;  had  a  hard  struggle  with  fortune ;  picked  up  a 
slender  education,  was  apprenticed  to  a  shoemaker, 
went  to  the  capital  afterward,  and  was  clerk  in  a  policy 
office.  Failing  to  be  satisfied  there,  he  came  to  New- 
York,  where  he  soon  evinced  such  remarkable  capacity 
for  business  that  he  attracted  the  attention  of  Jacob 
Little — so  long  the  great  bear  of  Wall  street.  He  went 
into  Little's  office,  arid  rose  from  one  position  to  another, 
until  he  became  the  eminent  banker's  confidential  clerk. 
He  showed  such  remarkable  financial  ability  that  his 
employer  advised  him  to  go  into  business  for  himself, 
and  lent  him  money  for  the  purpose.  For  years  Groes- 
beck has  been  a  banker,  and  though  he  has  failed 
several  times,  he  has  always  preserved  his  reputation 
for  honor,  and  his  house  is  to-day  one  of  the  wealthiest 
in  the  City.  He  is  not  a  reckless  speculator;  but  he 
buys  and  sells  stocks,  and  lends  money  on  them ;  some 
of   his   operations   being  immense.     Last   year   he   is 


614  The   Great   Metropolis. 

reputed  to  have  made  $2,000,000,  and  his  private  for- 
tune is  estimated  at  $10,000,000.  He  is  about  fifty- 
two,  tall,  dark,  and  looks  like  an  anxious,  ^overworked 
man.  He  is  liberal  to  a  fault,  and  does  many  generous 
acts,  of  which  few  ever  hear. 

Jay  Cooke  is  known  everywhere  as  the  agent  of  the 
Government  during  the  issue  of  the  7-30  and  5-20  bonds. 
By  that  loan  he  made  a  vast  fortune,  and  is  now  one  of 
great  bankers  of  Wall  street.  He  is  a  native  of  Ohio, 
having  been  born  in  Portland,  now  Sandusky,  in  the 
Summer  of  1821.  His  father  was  a  member  of  Congress 
(this  is  not  mentioned  to  cast  any  discredit  on  the 
banker,  but  merely  as  a  fact  for  which  he  can  not  be 
held  responsible),  and  having  the  name  of  Eleutheros, 
which  nobody  could  pronounce  or  spell  properly,  he 
determined  to  give  his  children  short  names.  So  the 
future  financier  was  called  Jay. 

The  elder  Cooke  having  suffered  some  adversity,  and 
his  son  finding  it  out,  determined  to  help  himself.  So 
he  went  to  the  store  of  an  acquaintance  in  town,  and 
without  the  consent  or  knowledge  of  his  parents  got  a 
situation  as  clerk.  He  proved  himself  excellently  quali- 
fied for  business,  and  after  acting  as  book-keeper  and 
salesman  in  St.  Louis  and  Philadelphia,  he  went,  in  his 
seventeenth  year,  into  the  banking  house  of  E.  W. 
Clark  &  Co.  (in  the  latter  city),  of  which  he  was  after- 
"vvard  a  partner.  Remaining  in  the  firm  twenty  years,  he 
retired,  and  in  the  early  part  of  1861  opened  a  banking 
establishment  of  his  own  with  his  brother-in  law,  AVm. 
G.  Moorhead,  under  the  name  of  Jay  Cooke  &  Co.  The 
financial  ability  of  the  new  firm,  displayed  in  negotia- 
ting different  loans,  attracted  the  attention  of  the  Gov- 
ernment.     Secretary   Chase    made    Cooke  &   Co.   the 


Bankers  and  Wall   Street   Operators.       615 

agents  in  Philadelphia  for  the  three  series  of  7-30,  and 
also  special  agents  of  the  $500,000,000  5-20  loan.  The 
risk  was  great,  and  large  capital  was  required,  but  when 
it  is  remembered  that  f  of  one  per  cent,  w^as  paid,  on 
the  whole  amount,  the  profit  will  be  seen  to  have  been 
handsome.  The  firm  made  several  millions,  and  Cooke 
himself,  now  doing  business  at  the  corner  of  Wall  and 
Nassau  streets,  is  supposed  to  be  worth  $15,000,000  to 
$20,000,000.  Cooke  is  very  fresh  in  his  feelings,  and 
remarkable  for  his  cheerful  and  genial  disposition.  He 
has  the  reputation  of  a  very  charitable  m.an,  having  given 
freely  to  churches  and  colleges.  He  has  a  fine  country 
seat  on  one  of  the  islands  of  Lake  Erie,  near  San- 
dusky, and  dispenses  a  lavish  hospitality.  He  has  a 
bright,  sympathetic  face,  agreeable  manners,  and  a  firm 
mouth  that  represents  his  character. 

Another  firm  that  h^is  made  a  fortune  by  acting  as 
agents  of  government  loans  is  Fisk  &  Hatch.  Before 
the  War  they  were  both  living  on  salaries ;  Hatch  being 
an  officer  in  a  Jersey  City  bank,  at  $1,200  a  year.  Soon 
as  they  began  to  negotiate  the  bonds  they  found  them- 
selves on  the  high  road  to  fortune.  They  now  do  a  very 
large  business  in  Nassau,  near  Wall  street,  and  have 
cleared  $1,000,000  a  year.  They  are  both  young  and 
born  financiers.  They  are  much  esteemed;  do  a  strictly 
legitimate  business ;  are  conscientious  members  of  the 
church,  and  liberal  in  their  charities. 

August  Belmont  came  here  originally  as  the  agent  of 
the  Rothschilds,  and  is,  perhaps,  better  known  as  a  poli- 
tician than  as  a  banker.  His  office  is  at  No.  50  Wall 
street,  in  a  great,  dingy  granite  building,  where  the 
largest  transactions  are  made.  He  does  most  of  his 
business  on  foreign  account ;  is  very  wealthy,  and  one 


616  The   Great   Metropolis. 

of  the  shrewdest  of  financiers.  His  wife  is  the  daughter 
of  Commodore  Perry,  and  his  home  in  Fifth  avenue,  cor- 
ner of  Eighteenth  street,  is  interiorly  one  of  the  most 
elegant  and  luxurious  in  town.  His  picture  gallery  alone 
is  said  to  be  worth  $400,000  or  $500,000.  He  is  the 
President  of  the  Democratic  National  Committee,  and 
has  always  taken  a  very  prominent  part  in  politics.  He 
is  small,  heavy  set,  with  a  short,  thick  nose,  not  inviting 
in  appearance,  nor  conciliating  in  manner.  Though  a 
man  of  brain  and  character,  he  is  not  at  all  popular, 
nor  does  he  wish  to  be — satisfied  with  his  position  and 
his  unquestionable  power.  He  is  a  German  by  birth, 
though  he  has  French  blood,  and  is  often  alluded  to  by 
those  who  like  him  not,  as  a  "Dutch  Jew."  He  walks 
lame,  having  been  wounded  in  a  duel  while  living  on 
the  Continent;  but  in  the  peculiar  understanding  of 
Wall  street  he  is  not  likely  to  be  crippled.  He  is  too 
sagacious  and  far-seeing  to  become  financially  halt. 

Brown  Brothers&  Co.,  59  Wall  street,  is  one  of  the  most 
eminent  houses  in  America.  Their  great  marble  banking- 
house  is  not  surpassed  by  any  similar  establishment  on 
this  or  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic.  It  cost  over  a 
million,  and  is  an  architectural  ornament  to  the  mone- 
tary quarter.  The  founder  of  the  house,  James  Brown, 
is  still  in  it.  He  is  from  the  North  of  Ireland  ;  began 
life  as  a  linen-draper,  and  havirtg  made  a  fortune,  estab- 
lished the  banking-house  with  his  brother,  who  had 
been  knighted  for  his  services  to  the  British  Govern- 
ment. James  Brown  is  regarded  as  a  high  type  of 
business  honor;  is  probably  worth  $12,000,000  or 
$15,000,000  ;  is  a  devout  Presbyterian,  and  prominent 
in  numerous  charities.  He  is  nearly  sixty,  but  in 
excellent  health,  and  one  of  our  most  useful  citizens. 


Bankers  axd  Wall  Street  Operators.        617 

James  G.  King's  Sons  have  a  very  quiet,  plain  estab- 
lishment at  No.  54  William  street.  James  G.  King  has 
been  dead  for  some  years,  and  the  business  is  continued 
by  his  sons.  It  is  one  of  the  oldest  firms  in  the  City, 
and  in  the  very  best  standing.  It  deals  largely  in 
foreign  exchange  and  grants  letters  of  credit  available 
in  all  the  principal  cities  of  Europe.  The  Kings  are  an 
old  New-York  family,  and  their  commercial  honor  has 
never  been  tarnished.  They  are  very  rich,  but  wholly 
without  ostentation. 

Leonard  W.  Jerome  is  quite  a  contrast  to  such  men 
as  the  Browns  and  Kings.  He  belongs  to  the  present- 
day  school  of  bold,  often  reckless  operators ;  represents 
the  fast  financiers  of  the  street.  He  was  formerly  a 
neW'Spaper  publisher  in  Hochester,  but  has  for  years 
been  a  prominent  operator  in  stocks.  He  is  shrewd, 
resolute,  full  of  expedients  and  resources ;  mxakes  and 
loses  fortunes  every  twelve  months,  but  manages  to 
float  conspicuous  on  the  financial  tide.  He  is  a  noted 
person;  a  man  of  the  world  and  fond  of  pleasure; 
dresses  showily ;  drives  fleet  horses  ;  has  fiist  friends  ; 
enjoys  display;  gives  expensive  entertainments;  is 
extravagant  and  careless  ;  is  called  good-looking;  lives 
with  a  free  hand  and  a  liberal  heart  in  the  sunshine  of 
the  passing  hour. 


CHAPTEE  LXXIIL 
CHARLES     O'CONOR. 

Charles  O'Conor  is  very  sensitive  about  the  spelling 
of  his  name  with  a  single  n  ;  perhaps  because  the  double 
n  is  the  common  method.  He  is,  as  every  one  may 
know,  whether  he  has  one  or  two  ns  in  his  patronymic, 
of  Irish  descent ;  his  father  having,  in  accordance  with 
the  established  custom,  quitted  his  native  country  on 
account  of  his  connection  with  the  Irish  revolution  of 
1798. 

Charles  O'Conor  was  born  here,  in  1804,  and  in  such 
narrow  circumstances  that  he  with  difficulty  obtained 
an  education.  He  did  not  graduate,  though  his  studi- 
ous habits  and  thirst  for  knowledge  more  than  made  up 
for  the  absence  of  a  collegiate  course.  In  his  early 
youth  he  went  to  Steuben  county;  but,  after  living 
there  for  several  years,  he  returned  to  the  City  to  study 
law,  for  which  he  had  long  had  a  partiality.  He  was  a 
messenger-boy  at  first,  and  rose  step  by  step  to  the 
position  of  an  attorney.  While  a  stripling  in  the  office 
of  a  well-known  firm  of  that  day,  he  used  to  read  Coke 
and  Blackstone  whenever  he  had  the  least  leisure;  bor- 
rowed law  books,  and  pored  over  them  at  night.  Those 
who  observed  his  diligence  and  determination  predicted 
success  for  him  at  the  bar.  Before  he  began  to  study 
regularly  he  was  well-informed  on  many  legal  points, 
and    often   surprised  his   elders  by  his  readiness   and 


Charles  0' Conor.  619 

knowledge.  He  was  only  twenty-one  when  admitted  to 
practice. 

Soon  after  admission  he  cherished  political  aspira- 
tions, and  was  anxious  to  be  chosen  Alderman  for  the 
Sixth  Ward.  The  doubtful  honor  was  refused  him  at 
the  polls,  where  he  w^as  gloriously  defeated.  His  fail- 
ure of  election  troubled  him  sorely  at  the  time,  and 
impelled  him  to  confine  himself  in  future  to  his  profes- 
sion. His  application  was  extraordinary.  He  worked 
late  and  early,  and  for  a  period  of  ten  years  is  said  to 
have  been  in  the  courts  or  at  his  office  sixteen  hours  out 
of  the  tw^enty-four.  He  had  a  hard  struggle  until  he 
was  thirty ;  but  his  effective  speeches,  more  remarka- 
ble for  soundness  than  eloquence,  at  last  brought  him 
into  notice.  He  took  all  the  cases  that  were  offered 
him,  and  did  his  best  in  every  one  of  them  -,  and  to  this 
he  ascribes  his  professional  success. 

Having  been  chosen  a  member  of  the  Constitutional 
Convention  for  revising  the  Constitution  of  the  State,  in 
1846,  he  showed  great  capacity,  legal  and  political,  and 
w^as  much  praised  by  the  Democrats  for  his  consistent 
course.  Two  years  after  he  w^as  a  candidate  for  Lieu- 
tenant-Governor, and  w^ould  have  been  appointed  Attor- 
ney-General by  President  Pierce,  if  General  Marcy,  of 
this  State,  had  not  already  been  in  the  Cabinet. 

For  the  past  twenty  years  O'Conor  has  been  em- 
ployed in  some  of  the  most  important  cases  in  the 
country.  He  set  out  as  a  criminal  lawyer,  but  aban- 
doned that  practice  as  soon  as  he  could  command  one 
more  lucrative  and  dignified.  The  Mason  Will,  in  the 
courts  for  fifteen  years,  and  the  Forrest  Divorce,  are 
among  the  most  famous  cases  in  w^hich  O'Conor  has 
been  engaged.     In  the  former  he  made  what  was  called 


620  The   Great   Metropolis. 

his  ablest  speech,  and  gained  his  cause ;  the  decision 
being  given  in  favor  of  the  heirs.  In  the  latter  he  was 
opposed  by  John  Van  Buren  (on  the  side  of  the  trage- 
dian), who  was  more  brilliant  than  his  opponent,  though 
0' Conor  was  certainly  more  profound. 

O'Conor  has  a  very  large  practice,  but  in  his  sixty- 
fourth  year  he  is  inclined  to  rest  from  his  labors.  His 
income  is  $70,000  or  $80,000  a  year,  and  he  lives  in 
elegance  at  Fort  Washington,  where  his  entertainments 
are  numerous  and  expensive.  His  wife,  who  is  fond  of 
society,  is  said  to  be  amiable  and  accomplished,  and  to 
preside  with  grace  over  the  hospitalities  of  her  husband. 

Charles  O'Conor's  career  on  the  subject  of  slavery  has 
been  consistent  if  not  admirable.  Pie  has  from  the  first 
been  opposed  to  the  negro  in  every  way.  He  has  been 
against  his  emancipation,  against  his  education,  against 
his  right  to  the  franchise,  against  every  effort  for  his 
advancement.  It  is  said  he  deeply  deplores  the  aboli- 
tion of  slavery,  which  he  considered  a  beneficent  and 
humanizing  as  well  as  a  peculiar  institution.  It  is  sin- 
gular a  man  of  O'Conor's  learning  and  intellect  can  hold 
so  narrow  and  irrational  a  view  ;  but  he  has  been  accus- 
tomed for  years  to  looking  at  the  subject  from  one  side, 
and  the  indignation  his  course  has  excited  among  the 
Hepublicans  and  Radicals  has,  it  is  presumed,  only 
strengthened  his  convictions. 

In  person,  O'Conor  is  of  medium  height,  erect,  and 
rather  slender.  His  face  is  after  the  Irish  pattern,  in- 
dicating strength  and  sternness,  will,  and  resolution  to  a 
point  of  dogged  obstinacy.  His  eye  is  dark  and  pene- 
trating, and  his  hair  and  whiskers  are  very  gray.  When 
speaking  in  public,  he  is  deliberate  and  measured  at 
first ;  but  warming  up  with  his  subject,  he  is  fluent  and 


Charles   O'Conor.  621 

rapid,  and  often  severely  sarcastic.  On  the  whole,  he 
seems  of  a  cold  temperament,  though  he  is  very  agree- 
able and  entertaining  in  private.  He  is  an  intellectual 
egotist,  and  holds  his  opinions  so  firmly  that,  while  he 
is  willing  to  discuss  questions,  there  is  no  hope  of 
inducing  a  change  in  the  position  he  once  has  taken. 


CHAPTEE  LXXIY. 

JAMES    T.    BRADY. 

James  T.  Brady,  another  pfominent  lawyer  of  the 
City,  is  personally  better  known  than  0' Conor,  because  of 
his  continual  appearance  before  the  public  of  Manhattan. 
Like  O'Conor,  he  is  native  here,  having  been  born  in  the 
lower  part  of  town ;  though  he  is  so  fond  of  dwelling 
on  the  wrongs  of  Ireland,  and  lauding  her  sons  to  the 
stars  on  the  rostrum,  that  many  suppose  him  a  boy  of 
Blarney.  He  is  so  dear  to  the  Irish  heart  of  this  City 
for  his  sympathy  with,  and  the  abundant  rhetoric  ad- 
dressed to  Erin,  that  he  has  been  chosen  President  of  St. 
Patrick's  Society,  and  is  always  invited  to  any  and 
every  festive  board  at  which  the  Green  Isle  is  to  be  glo- 
rified. Between  his  life  and  0' Conor's  there  are  many 
similarities.  They  were  both  poor,  both  pre-determined 
to  the  bar,  both  engaged  for  years  in  criminal  cases, 
both  successful,  and  both  the  architect  of  their  own  for- 
tune. While  Brady's  professional  reputation  stands 
very  high,  he  has  gained  very  few  of  his  cases.  It  is 
said  he  takes  too  much  personal  interest  in  his  clients ; 
makes  too  many  appeals  of  a  flattering  character  to 
judges  and  juries ;  declares  too  often  and  too  particu- 
larly the  innocence  and  miscellaneous  virtues  of  those 
he  is  called  upon  to  defend.  That  habit,  as  well  as  his 
subtle  distinctions  on  points  of  law,  excite  suspicion  and 
create  confusion,  and  he  therefore  fails  of  success. 


James   T.    Brady.  623 

Brady's  face  and  fame  are  most  familiar  at  dinners, 
and  suppers,  and  public  meetings  of  all  sorts.  His  forte 
lies  in  after-dinner  speeches.  The  presence  of  boon 
companions,  the  drinking  of  toasts,  and  the  flow  of  wine, 
act  upon  him  rapidly  and  fa  Adorably.  Naturally  sensi- 
tive, fervidly  rhetorical  and  fond  of  display,  he  is  in  his 
element  in  the  midst  of  the  jingling  of  glasses  and  pop- 
ping of  champagne.  He  needs  little  provocation  to  re- 
spond to  any  sentiment,  and  he  always  brings  applause 
from  his  hearers.  If  he  had  a  melodious  instead  of  a 
harsh  voice,  he  would  be  more  interesting ;  but  his 
admirers  forget  his  tones  in  his  glowing  periods  and 
flashes  of  humor.  He  has  the  Irish  temperament — 
a  passion  for  verbal  floridity  and  sensational  color- 
ing— and  never  lets  a  theme  suifer  for  want  of  repre- 
sentation. 

Brady  is  the  most  persevering  speaker ;  has  the 
largest  gift  of  continuance  of  any  orator  in  Manhattan. 
No  public  occasion  is  thought  to  be  complete  without  him. 
He  figures  in  all  presentations ;  at  all  public  dinners ; 
at  all  private  suppers ;  at  all  public  meetings  ;  at  all 
formal  receptions.  He  must,  on  an  average,  deliver  one 
hundred  addresses  a  year.  A  sarcastic  journalist  says 
a  reward  of  $10,000  has  long  been  offered  for  the  discov- 
ery of  any  public  or  private  occasion,  within  a  radius  of 
fifty  miles  of  New-York  City,  taking  Union  Square  as  a 
center,  on  which  James  T.  Brady  did  not  speak ;  and 
that  up  to  the  present  time  the  reward  has  never  been 
claimed. 

Brady  lays  claim  to  the  earliest  recognition  of  "  moral 
sanity  "  as  the  cause  of  crime  ;  Huntington,  the  famous 
"  genteel"  forger,  having  been  the  client  in  whose 
defense  he  first  made  that  a  plea. 


624  The    Great   Metropolis.  ^ 

In  politics  Brady  has  been  a  Democrat,  though  a  less 
consistent  one  than  0' Conor.  During  the  Rebellion  he 
favored  the  North ;  supported  President  Lincoln's  policy, 
and  was  appointed  to  an  important  commission  under 
that  adlninistration.  He  feels  a  deep  interest  in  the 
drama;  is  a  regular  habitue  of  the  theaters,  and  has 
contributed  several  minor  pieces  to  the  stage  that  had  a 
certain  local  popularity.  He  was  one  of  the  founders  of 
the  Dramatic  Fund  Association,  and  is  still  a  prominent 
and  zealous  member.  He  has  written  for  the  press,  too, 
at  various  times,  and  continues  to  have  an  inclination  to 
divert  himself  as  an  imp  of  the  ink-bottle. 

Brady  is  eminently  social  and  sociable  ;  has  a  grega- 
rious and  convivial  cast ;  is  a  member  of  two  or  three 
clubs  ;  relishes  amusements  of  almost  every  kind,  and 
is  a  good  specimen  of  a  jovial  bachelor.  He  is  about 
five  feet  eight  in  height ;  well  built,  slight  but  compact 
in  frame  ;  has  a  broad  and  intellectual  forehead,  a  bright 
eye  and  very  mobile  features.  He  is  rather  graceful, 
and,  Avhen  his  face  is  lighted  up,  I  have  known  him  to 
be  called  handsome.  He  is  a  flueuit  talker,  and  would, 
as  I  have  said,  be  a  very  agreeable  one  but  for  the  dis- 
cordant tones  of  his  voice  which  he  has  struggled  in 
vain  to  correct.  He  is  so  w^ell  liked  by  all  classes  that 
he  may  be  called  one  of  the  most  popular  men  in  New- 
York. 


CHAPTER  LXXY. 
FERNANDO     WOOD. 

Fernando  Wood  is  one  of  the  shrewdest  of  New- York 
politicians,  and  they  have  always  been  remarkable  for 
their  astuteness.  He  was  born  in  Philadelphia,  in 
1812,  and  is  said  to  have  set  out  in  his  metropolitan 
life  as  the  proprietor  of  a  small  drinking  saloon  in 
Greenwich  street,  though  he  was  by  profession  a  cigar- 
maker.  He  afterward  became  a  clerk  in  a  counting- 
house,  and  was  for  years  a  ship-owner  and  merchant. 
He  is  a  self-made  man,  owing  little  to  education,  but 
naturally  intelligent  and  having  an  intuitive  knowledge 
of  character.  Very  early  he  showed  capacity  to  manage 
and  control  his  fellows,  and  he  has  improved  upon  this 
Avith  his  increasing  years.  During  the  time  he  was 
engaged  in  mercantile  business,  his  enemies  say  he  did 
not  deal  fairly  with  his  partner ;  but  his  admirers,  of 
.whom  he  has  many,  proclaim  that  he  has  been  slandered. 
The  firm  of  which  he  was  a  member  ultimately  failed, 
and  Wood  entered  into  political  life. 

For  years  he  was  very  active  among  the  Democrats, 
and  became  a  power  in  the  municipal  government.  His 
record  was  not,,  enviable.  He  was  charged  with  all 
manner  of  corruptions,  and  when  he  was  nominated  for 
Mayor,  in  1857,  a  howl  of  indignation  went  up  from  the 
Opposition.  That  did  not  prevent  his  election,  however? 
and,    when    elected,  he  disappointed  his  enemies  and 

40 


626  The   Great   Metropolis. 

disgusted  his  friends.  Instead  of  being  the  corrupt 
official  that  was  expected ;  instead  of  being  a  mere  tool 
in  the  hands  of  the  party  that  placed  him  in  office,  he 
acted  independently  and  honestly  ;  established  various 
reforms,  and  proved  himself  one  of  the  best  and  most 
popular  Mayors  the  City  had  ever  known.  For  some 
months  he  continued  his  excellent  course.  He  had 
gained  the  warmest  admirers  among  his  bitterest  foes. 
The  journals  that  had  abused  him  exhausted  eulogy 
upon  him.  Prayers  were  even  olTered  up  for  him  in 
fashionable  churches.  But  he  was  bent  upon  disappoint- 
ing the  City  in  another  way. 

All  of  a  sudden  the  improvements  he  had  made  were 
overridden  by  the  worst  corruptions.  All  that  had 
been  anticipated  of  his  bad  government  was  more  than 
realized.  The  City  Hall  fell  into  the  hands  of  the 
worst  men  in  New-York,  and  the  indignant  public 
clamored  in  vain  for  reform.  The  Municipal  Police,  as 
they  were  called,  became  so  insupportable  that  the 
State  determined  to  supplant  them  with  police  of  its 
own  appointment,  and  did  so.  There  was  serious 
trouble ;  fighting  and  riots  ensued  before  the  Metropol- 
itan Police  were  firmly  installed,  and  on  Mayor  Wood 
was  thrown  the  entire  responsibility  of  the  public  dis- 
turbances. He  was  compelled  to  submit ;  but  during 
the  remainder  of  his  term  of  office,  he  did  all  he  could 
to  make  himself  obnoxious  to  the  Opposition,  which, 
indeed,  he  had  no  cause  to  love.  He  went  out  of  the 
Mayoralty  amid  the  execrations  of  those  who  at  first 
were  loudest  in  his  praise.  It  was  thought  that  he 
could  never  be  elected  to  the  office  again  ;  but  he  has  been 
three  times  Mayor,  and  without  redeeming  his  reputa- 
tion.    He  was  defeated  the  last  time  he  ran  for  the 


Fernando  Wood.  627 

place  ;  but  he  still  boasts  that  he  can  get  it  when  he 
likes.  He  has  been  thrice  in  Congress,  and  has  just 
been  elected  a  fourth  time. 

He  is  resolute,  energetic,  and  believes  the  end 
justifies  the  means  in  politics,  and  that  the  end  is 
success.  His  influence  with  the  people,  particularly 
with  the  Irish,  is  very  great.  They  seem  to  have  a 
kind  of  blind  worship  for  him,  and  they  cleave  to  him 
through  good  and  evil  report.  Even  when  they  are  in- 
censed against  him,  as  they  are  sometimes,  he  has  but  to 
go  among  them  and  talk  with  them  to  bring  them  over 
to  his  side. 

Whatever  his  defects.  Wood  is  an  extraordinary  man; 
has  abundant  faith  in  himself,  and  cares  nothing  for 
the  abuse  that  is  heaped  upon  him.  Coolness  is  super- 
abundantly his.  In  Congress,  when  torrents  of  invective 
have  been  poured  upon  his  head,  he  has  sat  in  his  chair 
stroking  his  moustache  and  looking  more  indifferent 
than  any  of  his  fellow-members.  From  the  class  of  men 
he  controls  many  fancy  him  a  rude,  coarse  fellow  of  the 
Sixth  Ward  politician  type.  They  are  greatly  mistaken. 
Fernando  Wood,  with  his  gray  hair  and  mustache, 
sober  suit  of  black,  tall,  erect,  lithe  figure,  quiet,  almost 
solemn  manner,  would  be  mistaken  for  a  clergyman. 
He  is  perfectly  self-possessed  under  all  circumstances ; 
speaks  softly  and  deliberately ;  dresses  neatly,  and  would 
be  prepossessing  were  it  not  for  a  suggestion  of  coldness 
and  selfishness  that  no  ease  or  polish  of  manner  can  remove. 

Wood  lives  in  good  style  up  town;  has  a  liberal 
income — having  laid  the  basis  of  his  wealth  while  he 
was  Mayor  in  1857  by  buying  at  advantageous  rates 
real  estate  sold  for  taxes.  He  is  fifty-six,  of  vigorous 
constitution ;  seems  to  grow  more  cunning  with  age,  and 


628  The  Great  Metropolis. 

deserves  the  sobriquet  of  the  Fox,  which  has  been  fixed 
upon  him.  He  was  long  distinguished  as  the  head  and 
front  of  Mozart  Hall,  which  he  originated  in  opposition 
to  Tammany.  But  Tammany  was  too  strong  for  Mozart, 
which  is  now  little  more  than  a  name.  It  fears  Wood, 
however,  and  has  consented  to  his  going  to  Congress, 
where  perhaps  he  may  expiate  some  of  his  many  polit- 
ical sins. 


CHAPTEE  LXXYI. 

GEORGE    FRANCIS    TRAIN. 

George  Francis  Train  is  as  difficult  to  locater  as  to 
analyze.  He  claims  a  residence  in  St.  Petersburg, 
London,  Paris,  San  Francisco,  Omaha,  Chicago,  New- 
York,  and  Boston;  but,  as  those  cities  are  not  con- 
yeniently  contiguous  to  each  other,  it  is  questionable, 
should  he  declare  he  had  a  residence  in  each  and  all  of 
them,  if  he  would  be  permitted  to  vote,  even  on  Man- 
hattan Island.  Public  opinion  is  much  divided  respect- 
ing Train.  Some  persons  think  him  a  madman  ;  others 
a  fool.  Tie  is  neither.  He  knows  what  he  is  about 
better  than  most  men )  but  his  passion  for  notoriety  is 
such  that  he  is  constantly  misunderstood.  lie  believes 
in  notoriety,  in  self-representation,  in  self-assertion,  in 
self-appreciation,  to  the  fullest.  With  him,  egotism  is, 
if  not  the  highest  of  virtues,  the  first  of  domestic  chari- 
ties. He  holds  there  is  no  success  without  egotism,  and 
that  success  in  some  form  is  what  all  are  struggling  for. 
Self-conscious  and  self-loving  as  he  is,  he  does  not  desire 
to  encroach  upon  the  right  of  others  to  be  and  appear  as 
vain  as  they  choose.  He  is  convinced  that  modesty 
"  does  not  pay,"  as  he  would  express  it,  and  that  it  is 
in  most  cases  a  sham.  He  is  violently  opposed  to 
shams,  and  prefers  Nature,  however  disagreeable,  to  the 
most  pleasant  make-believe.     Not  long  ago,  he  spoke  to 


630  The   Great   Metropolis. 

a  writer  of  reputation  about  a  literary  work  he  had  com- 
pleted. ^^  It  does  not  amount  to  any  thing,"  said  the 
author ;  '^  I  did  it  for  lack  of  something  better." 

"  You  don't  really  think  so/'  replied  Train.  '^  If  you 
had  had  that  belief,  you  wouldn't  have  undertaken  the 
work.  Never  decry  your  own  performance  anyhow. 
Let  other  people  do  that.  People  take  you  at  your  own 
estimate ;  and  it's  good  policy  to  put  a  high  A^alue  upon 
yourself  if  you  want  to  sell  well  in  the  market." 

Train  is  an  American  in  excess ;  an  American  raised 
to  a  higher  power,  to  put  it  mathematically;  an  Ameri- 
can run  mad.  He  is  a  highly  exaggerated  type  of  our 
people  and  country ;  and  has  all  the  energy,  boldness, 
independence,  irrepressibleness,  that  are  popularly  sup- 
posed to  belong  to  the  Anglo-Saxon  race.  For  nearly 
twenty  years  he  has  been  before  the  public  in  protean 
shape,  and  no  doubt  for  twenty,  aye,  thirty  years  more, 
he  will  insist  upon  not  being  forgotten  while  voice  and 
lungs,  pen  and  ink,  type  and  paper,  are  to  be  used  or 
had  in  the  World. 

Train  was  born  in  Massachusetts,  in  or  near  Boston, 
and  an  erratic  fellow  from  childhood.  He  was  thought 
very  visionary  and  fantastic  in  his  youth,  and,  though 
unmistakably  clever,  seemed  to  have  no  concentration, 
no  continuity  of  purpose.  Before  he  w^as  of  age  he  was 
famous  in  the  City  of  Notions.  He  had  unusual  power 
of  expression,  orally  and  graphically ;  was  constantly 
talking,  speaking  in  public,  or  writing.  He  rambled 
abroad;  returned,  and  published  several  volumes,  among 
which  were  '^  Young  America  in  Europe,"  and  "  Wall 
Street  Abroad."  In  all  of  his  volumes  he  glorified 
Young  America,  which  he  claimed  to  represent;  criti- 
cised and  censured  the  old  monarchies,  and  predicted 


George   Francis   Train.  631 

the  universal  diffusion  of  republican  principles.  His 
books  were  read ;  sometimes  admired ;  oftener  laughed 
at.  They  had  cleverness,  but  were  flighty,  incoherent, 
disconnected,  and  induced  many  persons  of  a  different 
temperament  to  believe  their  author  a  little  cracked. 
Then  he  went  abroad  again ;  made  extraordinary  and 
ridiculously  extravagant  speeches  that  confirmed  the 
impression  his  books  had  given. 

He  set  to  building  street  railways  in  London;  but 
after  great  boasts  of  teaching  John  Bull  how  to  travel, 
John  Bull  got  out  injunctions,  stopping  the  work;  and 
to  this  day  there  is  not  a  foot  of  street-railway  in  the 
British  metropolis. 

Train  has  been  in  every  European  capital,  and 
wherever  he  is,  he  is  bound  to  be  heard  from.  He 
never  keeps  quiet ;  but  fluctuates  between  the  Baltic 
Sea  and  the  Pacific  coast.  His  superlative  nervous 
force  and  activity  of  brain  impel  him  from  one  country 
to  another,  from  ocean  to  ocean,  like  the  driving-wheels 
of  a  locomotive. 

He  has  tried  almost  every  thing,  and  not  long  ago 
became  interested,  with  Thomas  C.  Durant,  the  Vice- 
President,  in  the  Union  Pacific  Railway.  He  has  had 
many  advantages  there  in  buying  property  and  locating 
towns,  and  is  reputed  to  have  made  a  great  deal  of 
money.  He  confesses  to  have  done  so,  and  frequently 
says  :  '^  I  have  taken  a  turn  at  many  things.  I  wrote 
for  the  newspapers,  and  people  called  me  a  fool.  I 
made  speeches,- and  they  called  me 'a  fool.  I  became 
author,  and  they  did  the  same.  I  built  street-railways, 
and  they  still  called  me  a  fool.  Then  I  went  to  making 
money,  and  since  then  nobody  has  called  me  a  fool." 

I  am  afraid  Train  is  mistaken.     It  is  so  much  easier 


632  The   Great   Metropolis. 

to  style  any  one  a  simpleton  than  to  understand  a  wise 
man,  that  a  great  many  persons  have  not  changed  their 
opinion  of  the  erratic  New-Englander.  Train  claims  to 
have  originated  the  Credit  Fonder  in  this  country,  which 
is  a  source  of  great  profit  to  him  in  the  building  of  the 
Pacific  Road.  No  one  can  imagine  all  the  enterprises 
and  public  movements  he  assumes  to  be  the  parent  of, 
and  with  justice,  perhaps ;  for  he  is  more  likely  than 
any  man  living  to  project  a  macadamized  road  to  the 
moon  or  a  pleasure  excursion  to  the  Bottomless  Pit,  for 
the  notoriety  of  the  thing,  if  for  no  other  reason. 

Train  is  an  amiable,  good-hearted,  and  good-looking 
fellow,  who  would  be  very  interesting  if  he  would  con- 
fine himself  to  one  subject  more  than  ten  seconds  at  a 
time.  He  overwhelms  you  with  talk  on  all  themes,  and 
conversation  with  him  is  little  else  than  a  rambling 
monologue,  in  which  you  are  an  entirely  superfluous 
figure.  He  is  of  medium  height,  erect,  graceful,  has 
brown,  curly  hair,  gray  eyes ;  afi'ects  blue,  brass-buttoned 
coats ;  has  an  interest  in  all  existences  under  the  stars, 
but  most  in  George  Francis  Train ;  and  is  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  men  of  the  time,  with  more  good  and 
capacity  in  him  than  he  will  ever  get  credit  for. 


I 


CHAPTER  LXXYIL 


FANNY    FERN 


Almost  every  one  has  heard  of  Fanny  Fern,  though 
very  few  know  who  Mrs.  Eldridge  or  Mrs.  Parton  is  ; 
and  many  will  be  surprised  to  learn  they  are  all  three 
one  and  the  same  person. 

"  Fanny  Fern"  Eldridge-Parton  was  born  in  Portland, 
Maine,  July  11,  1811 — a  fact  I  have  no  hesitation  in 
stating,  because  she  is  one  of  the  not  numerous  women 
who  have  no  objection  to  telling  her  age.  Her  father, 
Nathaniel  Willis,  editor  for  many  years  of  the  Boston 
Recorder^  removed  to  that  city  when  she  was  six  years 
old.  She  was  educated  at  Hartford,  Conn.,  being  a 
pupil  of  Catherine  E.  and  Harriet  Beecher,  now  the 
famous  Mrs.  Stowe.  Sara  Payson  Willis — her  maiden 
name — was  a  very  rollicking,  even  hoidenish  girl ;  gave 
her  teachers  no  little  trouble,  and  teased  her  school- 
fellows most  unmercifully.  She  was  very  popular, 
however,  from  her  fine  sense  of  justice  and  her  gener- 
osity of  heart.  Not  a  few  of  her  companions  seemed 
to  be  really  in  love  with  her,  ^particularly  the  younger 
and  weaker  of  the  class,  who  went  to  her  for  protection 
and  championship,  as  if  she  were  a  man. 

Numerous  stories  are  told  of  her  mad  freaks  and  mis- 
chievous tricks,  which  earned  for  her  the  well-deserved 
title  of  a  tomboy.      The  Beechers  have  many  reminis- 


634  The   Great   Metropolis. 

cences  of  Sallie  Willis  as  a  school-girl.     Among  other 
things,  she  used  to  be  wishing  constantly  that  she  was 
a  boy  ;  and  those  who  knew  her  then  were  often  of  the' 
opinion  that  she  nearly  had  her  wish. 

Soon  after  leaving  school  she  was  married  to  Charles 
Eldridge,  cashier  of  the  Merchants'  Bank  of  Boston. 
She  lived  in  comfort  and  content  with  him,  and  twice 
bore  him  children — daughters  ;  but  at  his  death  his 
affairs  were  found  to  be  involved,  and  she  was  soon 
thrown  upon  her  own  resources.  She  tried  to  obtain  a 
situation  as  teacher  or  saleswoman;  offered  to  do  any 
thing  to  put  bread  into  her  own  and  her  children's 
mouths,  but  she  was  unsuccessful,  and  finally,  as  a  last 
resort,  concluded  to  write. 

This  was  in  1851,  and  Boston  was  not  then  a  very 
good  literary  market.  Having  shown  cleverness  with 
her  pen  while  a  girl,  she  composed  a  number  of  sketches, 
stories,  poems  and  essays.  She  offered  them  to  all  the 
Boston  journals,  daily  and  weekly.  The  editors  acknowl- 
edged that  they  had  merit,  but  they  would  not  pay  for 
them.  She  wanted  money  more  than  fame,  and  declined 
to  have  them  printed  for  glory.  After  severe  struggles 
with  poverty,  and  when  she  was  on  the  eve  of  aban- 
doning the  literary  field,  she  found  an  editor  who  gave 
her  fifty  cents  for  a  sketch.  It  attracted  attention ; 
was  copied  in  other  journals,  and  induced  the  editor  to 
give  her  a  dollar  for  the  next  effusion.  She  continued 
to  write  over  the  signature  of  Fanny  Fern,  and  at  the 
end  of  a  few  months  she  had  gained  a  decided  reputation. 

As  soon  as  she  became  known,  she  removed  to  the  City, 
began  writing  for  the  weeklies,  and  made  Fanny  Fern 
a  familiar  name  all  over  the  country.  Robert  Bonner 
about  that  time  purchased  the  Ledger^  formerly  a  com- 


Fanny   Fern.  635 

mercial  weekly,  and  immediately  engaged  Fanny  to 
write  regularly,  at  $100  a  column.  Thenceforward 
her  reputation  and  independence  were  assured.  Her 
writings  were  copied  everywhere.  Drinking  saloons 
and  steamboats  were  named  after  her,  which  is  indu- 
bitable evidence  in  America  of  enduring  fame.  She 
made  a  collection  of  her  sketches,  and  published  them 
in  a  volume,  with  the  title  of  "  Fern  Leaves."  The 
book  had  a  sale  of  70,000,  and  realized  to  her  $8,000 
or  $10,000.  She  afterwards  published  another  series 
of  her  contributions  to  the  Ledger^  followed  by  a  novel 
• — '^  Ruth  Hall" — which  was  really,  though  not  osten- 
sibly, an  autobiography.  In  it  she  severely  censured 
and  ridiculed  her  brother,  N.  P.  Willis,  then  the  well- 
known  editor  of  the  Home  Journal^  under  the  name  of 
Hyacinth  \  showing  him  to  be  a  vulgar  pretender  and  a 
selfish  snob.  Of  the  taste  of  such  a  performance,  what- 
ever her  provocation,  there  can  hardly  be  two  opinions. 
But  the  novel  sold,  and  she  had  no  compunctious  visitings. 
In  1856  she  was  a  second  time  married  to  James 
Parton,  the  distinguished  biographer.  She  is  still  a 
contributor  to  the  Ledger^  and  in  consideration  of  her 
writing  for  no  other  publication,  Bonner  gives  her 
$5,000  a  year.  She  lives  very  comfortably  in  Eight- 
eenth street,  and  in  her  fifty-eighth  year  is  as  pleasant 
and  vivacious  as  a  girl  of  eighteen.  She  is  round  and 
plump ;  has  light  hair,  laughing,  blue  eyes  and  a  mobile 
face.  She  is  a  rapid  and  interesting  talker,  a  strong, 
self-poised,  large-hearted  woman  \  and  though  her 
writings  are  often  lacking  in  delicacy,  they  are  free 
from  sham,  earnest  for  the  truth,  often  eloquent,  always 
pointed,  and  have  done  much  good  by  their  strong 
appeals  to  women  and  their  brave  defense  of  right. 


CHAPTER  LXXYIII. 

TWO    STRONG-MINDED    WOMEN. 

Susan  B.  Anthony,  especially  since  the  establishment 
of  the  Revolution,  has  become  one  of  the  feminine  nota- 
bilities of  the  country.  She  is  a  native  of  South  Adams, 
Mass.,  though  her  parents  removed  to  Monroe  county, 
near  Rochester,  while  she  was  a  child.  She  is  of  Qua- 
ker descent,  and  the  Quakers  love  peace ;  but  she  has 
departed  from  the  faith  of  her  fathers,  and  grown  enam- 
ored of  all  forms  of  spiritual  warfare.  She  w^as  a  teacher 
for  many  years  ;  afterward  a  lecturer  on  temperance  and 
anti-slavery.  Since  her  girlhood  she  has  been  radical 
in  every  thing.  She  early  burst  the  trammels  of  old 
forms ;  became  an  uncompromising  Abolitionist  and  an 
enemy  of  common  and  ancient  creeds.  She  w\as  one  of 
the  first  advocates  of  woman's  rights  in  their  fullness. 
Eor  twenty  years  she  has  talked,  written,  and  spoken  in 
favor  of  feminine  suffrage,  and  will  have  little  to  desire 
when  that  becomes  the  law  of  the  land.  She  is  the  pub- 
lisher of  the  Revolution,  and  in  each  of  its  weekly  issues 
has  several  vigorous  articles  on  her  favorite  theme.  She 
is  a  thorough  come-outer,  in  the  strictest  sense  of  come- 
outerism;  but  she  is  sincere,  liberal,  sympathetic,  and, 
if  strong-minded,  is  tender-hearted. 

She  has  chosen  her  course  from  no  love  of  notoriety 
or  sensation,  but  from  principle  and  conscientious  deter- 


Two  Strong-Minded   Women.  637 

mination  to  do  right.  Her  life  is  full  of  practical  chari- 
ties. No  one  of  her  sex,  however  humble,  degraded,  or 
outcast,  ever  failed  to  find  in  her  a  comforter,  helper, 
and  friend.  She  is  tall  and  slender ;  has  a  good,  though 
not  handsome  face;  is  very  energetic;  talks  a  great  deal, 
but  very  well.  She  is  unmarried,  a  vigorous  and  logical 
speaker  and  writer,  and,  though  she  has  been  much  mis- 
represented and  ridiculed,  as  all  women  are  who  have 
courage  to  step  out  of  what  is  called  their  ^^  sphere,"  she 
is  gentle,  courageous,  and  true ;  has  a  high  purpose  in 
life,  and  has  done  a  good  work.  The  World  might  be 
better  off  if  it  had  a  thousand  Susan  Anthonys ;  this 
City  certainly  would. 

Elizabeth  Cady  Stanton  is  even  better  known  than 
her  co-laborer  on  the  Revolution.  She  has  stumped  the 
West;  lectured  and  made  speeches  throughout  the 
Northern  States  for  woman's  rights  and  woman's  suf- 
frage, of  which,  since  Lucy  Stone's  marriage  and  retire- 
ment to  New-Jersey  domesticity,  she  is,  perhaps,  the 
most  distinguished  advocate  in  the  Union.  Her  name 
is  printed  in  the  London  Times,  the  Paris  Moniteur,  and 
the  Independance  Beige.  She  has  sufficient  celebrity — • 
notoriety,  if  you  will — to  gratify  the  vanity  of  any  of 
her  sex ;  and  were  it  not  for  the  heart  she  has  in  her 
^vork,  no  doubt  she  would  long  ago  have  retired  from  a 
field  many  have  thought  uncongenial  to  her. 

Mrs.  Stanton  {nee  Elizabeth  Cady)  is  a  native  of 
Johnstown,  N.  Y.,  the  daughter  of  Judge  Cady,  a  gen- 
tleman of  position  and  ability.  She  was  married  to 
Henry  B.  Stanton,  a  young  and  rising  lawyer,*  in  her 
twentieth  year ;  and  not  long  after  went  to  Seneca  Falls, 
in  this  State,  where  she  resided  for  thirteen  or  fourteen 
years.     It  was  there  she  first  felt  an  interest  in  the 


638  The   Great   Meteopolis. 

cause  of  woman's  rights.  She  made  her  earliest  speech 
there,  I  think,  and  was  an  intimate  of  Mrs.  Bloomer,  a 
resident  of  the  same  town,  after  whom  the  short  skirt 
that  has  been  so  much  laughed  at  was  christened.  Mrs. 
Stanton  soon  became  acquainted  with  Lucy  Stone,  Abby 
Kelly  Foster,  Ernestine  L.  Rose,  Antoinette  L.  Brown, 
Frances  D.  Gage,  Elizabeth  Oakes  Smith,  and  the  whole 
tribe  of  feminine  agitationists.  They  received  her  with 
open  arms  and  encouraging  tongues.  She  was  taken 
into  their  innermost  circle ;  made  their  counselor  and 
confidante ;  was  launched  upon  a  "  career,"  and  dis- 
covered she  had  a  ''  mission."  Her  friends  were 
alarmed,  some  of  them  shocked,  that  a  lady  so  accom- 
plished and  highly-bred  should  ally  herself  with  women 
who  violated  all  the  conventionalities  and  departed  from 
all  the  customs  of  "  good  society." 

Mrs.  Stanton  had  made  up  her  mind,  however. 
Though  naturally  very  sensitive  and  shrinkingly  mod- 
est, she  resolved  to  brave  public  opinion,  and  do  what 
she  had  convinced  herself  was  her  duty.  She  plunged 
into  the  Rubicon;  she  crossed,  and  Rome  Avas — freer 
than  ever.  From  that  time  to  this  she  has  been  untir- 
ing in  her  exertions  for  the  cause.  She  firmly  believes 
every  thing  will  come  right  when  women  vote ;  that 
when  they  go  to  the  polls,  and  take  part  in  the  elec- 
tions, the  country  will  approach  near  to  Plato's  ideal 
republic,  and  More's  Utopia. 

For  some  years  she  has  lived  in  New- York ;  was  the 
founder,  and  is  the  guiding  and  ruling  spirit  of  the  Rev- 
olution. She  is  the  opposite  of  the  popular  notion  of  a 
strong-minded  woman.  Instead  of  being  angular,  cadav- 
erous, awkward,  shrill-voiced,  vinegar-faced,  she  is  bux- 
om, blithe,  pleasant.     Her  hair,  which  is  prematurely 


Two   Strong-Minded   Women.  639 

white,  clusters  about  her  well-shaped  head  in  silvery 
curls.  Her  eyes  are  large,  blue,  and  bright;  her  fea- 
tures regular,  and  her  complexion  fre§h.  She  is  a  very 
agreeable — many  call  her  a  fascinating — woman,  and 
is  so  full  of  life  and  humor  that  it  is  difficult  to  be  in 
her  society  without  feeling  the  charm  of  her  presence. 
She  has  several  children,  is  a  most  exemplary  wife  and 
mother,  and  is  widely  and  deeply  loved  by  all  who  know 
her.  She  has  a  fine  mind ;  is  logical  and  trenchant  in 
argument;  and  one  of  the  most  persevering  and  able 
advocates  her  cause  has  ever  had  on  this  side  of  the 
Atlantic. 


CHAPTER    LXXIX. 
PETER     COOPER. 

Peter  Cooper's  name  is  familiar  all  over  the  country 
on  account  of  his  persevering  efforts  to  educate  and  ele- 
vate the  poor  and  laboring  classes,  and  from  the  erection 
of  the  Cooper  Institute  for  the  instruction  of  the  work- 
ingmen  of  the  country.  Cooper  was  born  in  this  City 
in  the  winter  of  1791,  and  is  of  Revolutionary  stock, 
his  father  and  grandfather  having  served  as  officers 
during  the  struggle.  His  father  was  a  hatter  at  the  close 
of  the  struggle,  and  Peter  assisted  him  in  the  shop,  and 
had  a  hard  experience,  as  his  parent  was  in  straitened 
circumstances,  and  had  a  large  family  to  support.  The 
boy  was  very  anxious  to  learn,  but  he  was  unable  to 
attend  school  more  than  half  of  each  day  during  a 
single  year,  which  was  all  the  regular  education  he  ever 
received.  When  seventeen  he  was  apprenticed  to  a 
coachmaker,  and  he  followed  the  trade  for  some  years. 
He  afterwards  engaged  in  the  manufacture  of  patent 
machines  for  shearing  cloth  ;  then  of  cabinet  ware,  and  at 
last  he  entered  into  the  grocery  business  in  Burling 
Shp.  He  conducted  the  last  trade  for  some  years  with 
profit ;  but  retired  from  it  to  embark  in  the  manufacture 
of  glue  and  isinglass,  which  he  has  carried  on  ever 
since — a  period  of  more  than  thirty  years.  He  has 
been  interested  for  a  long  while  in  iron  manufactures,  and 


Peter   Cooper.  641 

in  his  works  near  Baltimore  lie  built,  after,  his  own 
designs,  the  first  locomotive  ever  constructed  in  the 
United  States.  lie  has  shown  much  interest  in  the 
extension  of  the  telegraph,  and  is  a  stockholder  and  an 
officer  in  the  Atlantic  Cable  Companies.  He  has  served 
in  both  branches  of  our  Common  Council,  and  what  is 
extraordinary,  he  proved  himself  a  most  honest  and 
honorable  member — an  example  that  few  have  been 
tempted  to  imitate  since  his  time.  The  difficulty  he 
had  in  obtaining  an  education  made  him  solicitous  of 
securing  advantages  for  others,  when  he  had  become 
rich,  and  Cooper  Institute  is  the  fine  result  of  a  self- 
promise  made  forty  years  before  its  erection.  The 
Institute  embraces  a  school  of  design  for  women, 
evening  courses  of  instruction  for  mechanics  and 
apprentices,  especially  as  respects  the  application  of 
science  to  the  practical  affairs  of  life,  a  free  reading- 
room,  galleries  of  art,  collections  of  models  of  inventions 
and  a  polytechnic  school.  The  building  cost  $500,000, 
w^hich  is  not  far  from  half  of  Peter  Cooper's  fortune. 
He  is  still  healthy  and  vigorous  and  no  one  would 
believe  he  was  near  his  eightieth  year.  He  is  a 
peculiar-looking  and  noticeable  person,  under  the 
medium  size,  with  a  sharp,  thin  visage,  a  profusion  of 
brown  hair,  very  little  gray  eyes,  always  wears  gold 
spectacles,  and  seems  as  amiable,  kind,  and  generous  as 
he  really  is.  No  one  ever  doubted  Peter  Cooper's 
honesty.  He  is  popular  with  all  classes,  and  is 
never  seen  in  jiublic  without  eliciting  applause.  He 
has  lived  a  true  life ;  is  a  genuine  democrat ;  an  earnest 
friend  of  the  people. 
41 


CHAFTEPt  LXXX. 


GEOKGE    LAW, 


A  VERY  different  man  from  Peter  Cooper  is  George 
Law.  Once  a  famous  personage,  he  has  so  sunk  out  of 
sight,  of  late  years,  that  the  great  public  has  almost 
entirely  forgotten  him.  He  was  born  in  Washington 
county  in  this  State,  and  his  parents  being  poor,  he 
came  to  the  Metropolis  to  seek  a  livelihood.  It  is  said 
he  worked  for  his  passage  and  arrived  here  penniless. 
He  was  in  his  first  teens  then;  but  being  very  stout  and 
hardy  he  worked  on  the  docks,  and  in  warehouses  for 
several  months.  At  the  end  of  that  time  he  had  saved 
a  hundred  dollars.  AYith  that  sum  he  began  to  barter 
and  trade,  and  soon  increased  it  to  $1,000 — the  hardest 
amount  to  get,  millionaires  tell  us,  though  the  statement 
is  not  always  true.  He  had  a  talent  for  making  money 
out  of  other  people  ;  but  he  remained  in  obscurity  till  he 
was  fully  thirty.  The  first  known  of  him  by  the  public 
was  his  appearance  as  contractor  for  building  High 
Bridge  for  the  Croton  Aqueduct.  He  made  the  job 
profitable,  and  soon  obtained  other  contracts  from  the 
City  that  rendered  him  prosperous.  He  purchased  an 
interest  in  different  ferry  and  street  railway  companies, 
and  became  an  operator  in  Wall  street,  where  his 
shrewdness  served  him  to  advantage.     He  was  not  a 


George   Law.  643 

bold  speculator,  but  had  the  sagacity  to  buy  and  sell 
at  the  right  time,  and  rarely  lost. 

At  one  time  the  Herald — in  the  campaign  of  1852,  I 
think — nominated  Law  for  the  Presidency,  and  gave 
him  the  sobriquet  of  "  Live-Oak  George,"  which  long 
adhered  to  him.  No  one  except  Law  imagined  for  a 
moment  the  journalistic  weathercock  in  earnest;  but  he 
was  greatly  flattered  by  the  nomination,  and  really 
cherished  aspirations  for  the  White  House. 

During  the  Lopez  expedition  in  Cuba  he  bought  a 
lot  of  muskets,  and  placed  them  on  board  the  Grapeshot. 
The  vessel  was  seized  while  lying  in  port,  on  the  charge 
that  the  muskets  were  intended  for  the  filibusters, 
which  no  doubt  was  true.  Law  made  a  fierce  protest 
against  the  seizure,  and  appealed  to  the  courts.  While 
the  case  was  pending  the  attempted  revolution  failed, 
and  Lopez  was  garroted.  The  fire-arms  afterward  proved 
of  very  little  value,  and  if  they  had  been  used  in  Cuba 
would  have  been  more  destructive  to  their  bearers  than 
to  the  cnem}^  A  great  deal  was  said  and  written  at 
the  time  about  the  George  Law  muskets,  and  their 
worthlessness  grew  to  be  a  proverb.  That  venture  was 
one  of  the  very  few  in  which  he  was  not  successful. 
He  has  the  reputation  of  having  made  money  out  of 
whatever  he  has  touched,  and  he  ought  to  make  it,  for 
he  is  totally  regardless  of  the  feelings  or  comfort  of 
others.  He  is  still  a  large  owner  in  ferries  and  railways, 
conducts  them  to  please  himself,  and  whistles  at  the 
public. 

George  Law  is  for  himself  first,  last,  and  always,  and 
he  is,  therefore,  one  of  the  most  unpopular  men  in  the 
Metropolis — a  fact  he  cares  nothing  about  so  long  as  his 
coffers  are  full,  and  his  digestion  is  perfect.     His  con- 


644  The   Great   Metropolis. 

science  is  easy,  for  it  lies  in  his  bank  account.  The 
good  he  does  must  be  in  secret  since  it  rarely  becomes 
known. 

Law  has  a  handsome  house  in  Fifth  avenue,  and  is 
probably  w^orth  $5,000,000,  though  it  would  not  be 
imagined  from  his  appearance  and  manner  that  he  would 
be  admitted  to  his  own  house,  or  that  his  income  was 
$1,000  a  year.  He  must  be  about  five  and  sixty  now ; 
has  a  strong  constitution  and  muscular  frame,  and 
promises  to  be  active  and  interest-calculating  for  thirty 
years  yet.  He  is  very  large  vertically  and  horizontally ; 
dresses  shabbily ;  has  coarse  features ;  resembles  a  car- 
man more  than  a  millionaire,  and  is  personally  known 
to  few.  He  is  frequently  to  be  seen  walking  and  driving 
about  on  his  private  business ;  occasionally  appears  at 
Fulton  Market  in  quest  of  oysters,  which  he  swallows 
voraciously  as  if  he  were  more  savage  than  hungry  ;  and 
now  and  then  figures  as  a  vice-president  of  some  public 
meeting,  which  he  never  attends.  Such  is  Live-Oak 
George,  who,  as  has  been  said,  is  a  self-made  man,  and 
worships  his  creator. 


CHAPTER  LXXXL 

PETER      B.     SWEENEY. 

Peter  B.  Sweeney  has  recently  risen  into  prominence 
as  the  Great  Mogul  of  Tammany  Hall.  He  is  considered 
one  of  the  shrewdest  of  Democratic  politicians ;  makes 
politics  his  trade,  and  thrives  by  them.  He  is  of  Irish 
extraction,  though  native  here,  and  seems  to  be  a  man 
of  force  more  than  fineness.  He  is  a  lawyer  by  profes- 
sion ;  but  he  has  quitted  law  for  more  lucrative,  if  not 
more  disinterested  pursuits,  within  the  magic  circle  of 
the  City  Hall.  He  is  the  present  City  Chamberlain, 
and  has  made  himself  famous  by  paying  over  to  the 
municipal  government  certain  monthly  sums  of  interest 
that  have  heretofore  been  kept  by  the  incumbent  of  the 
office.  The  proceeding  is  so  unprecedented  that  few 
New-Yorkers  are  willing  to  believe  that  any  man  capable 
of  such  conduct  is  acting  from  disinterested  motives. 
Until  recently,  a  bank  President  has  usually  been  made 
the  Chamberlain,  and  the  bank  has  received  the  deposits 
of  the  City  without  interest.  The  balance  to  the  credit 
of  New- York  is  often  $20,000,000,  and  it  is  estimated 
that  the  interest  on  the  account  is  not  infrequently 
$200,000  per  annum.  It  is  alleged  that  Sweeney  does 
not  give  more  than  one-third  of  the  interest  to  the  Treas- 
ury ;  but  that  he  pays  any  proportion  of  it  voluntarily, 


646  The   Great  Metropolis. 

and  when  there  is  no  law  to  compel  him,  should  certainly 
be  interpreted  to  his  credit. 

As  a  wire-puller,  caucus-controller,  and  manager  of 
men,  he  is  said  to  eclipse  his  astutest  predecessors.  He 
is  the  power  behind  the  throne  in  the  City  Hall,  and 
the  avowed  champion  of  the  King.  No  Democratic 
body  in  this  region  can  get  along  without  Sweeney  ;  and 
no  Democratic  caucus  is  complete  without  him.  He  is 
steadily  increasing  his  influence,  and  in  this  stronghold 
of  the  party  will  find  it  to  his  advantage  to  stay.  He 
is  w^ealthy — probably  $1,000,000  would  not  cover  his 
fortune — in  the  prime  of  life  ;  large,  dark-haired,  dark- 
eyed,  swarthy-complexioned  ;  feels  proud  of  his  political 
importance,  and  may  long  to  have  engraven  on  his 
marble  monument  in  Greenwood,  ''  Here  lies  the  late 
leader  of  Tammany  Hall." 


CHAPTER    LXXXIL 
DISTINGUISHED     CLERGYMEN. 

Nearly  all  of  our  well-known  members  of  the  clerical 
profession  are  doctors  of  divinity,  except  two  of  the 
very  ablest, — Henry  Ward  Beecher  and  Octavius  B. 
Frothingham,  who  have  peremptorily  declined  to  accept 
the  degree. 

After  Beecher,  Edwin  H.  Chapin,  the  Universalist,  is 
the  most  popular  and  famous.  Born  in  Union  village, 
Washington  county,  in  this  State,  Dec.  29,  1814,  and 
receiving  his  education  in  a  seminary  at  Burlington,  Yt., 
he  began  preaching,  in  his  twenty- third  year,  to  a  congre- 
gation of  Universalists  and  Unitarians  in  Bichmond,  Va. 
Bemaining  there  three  years,  he  went  to  Massachusetts; 
filled  a  pulpit  in  Charlestown  for  six  years,  and  in  Bos- 
ton for  two ;  when  he  was  called  to  the  Fourth  Univer- 
salist church  in  this  City.  He  soon  took  high  rank  as  a 
ministerial  orator,  and  ever  since — a  period  of  twenty 
years — his  reputation  has  been  increasing. 

His  church,  called  the  Divine  Unity,  was  for  many 
years  in  Broadway,  but  is  now  torn  down,  and  a  new  and 
handsome  edifice  has  been  built  in  Fifth  avenue.  His 
congregation  is  very  large,  and  his  reputation  attracts 
ymany  strangers ;  so  that,  long  before  the  hour  of  serv- 
ice, it  is  next  to  impossible  to  get  a  place.  His  style  of 
eloquence  is  fervid  and  impassioned,  abounding  i:i  orna- 


648  The   Great  Metropolis. 

ment  and  metaphor.  He  seems  to  lay  himself  out,  with 
pen  and  voice  on  particular  passages ;  and  he  is  often 
so  theatrical  that  his  audience  is  prompted  to  applaud. 
He  is  in  great  demand  as  a  lecturer,  and  can  easily  earn 
$8,000  to  $10,000  a  season  by  appearing  before  lyce- 
ums.  His  salary  is  $10,000  a  year,  which,  with  such 
perquisites  and  presents  as  all  popular  clergymen 
receive,  gives  him  a  large  and  comfortable  income. 

Chapin  is  quite  portly,  very  genial  and  amiable,  but  not 
at  all  clerical  in  appearance.  He  is  very  liberal  in  creed, 
and  one  of  the  best  of  our  pulpit  elocutionists  and  rhet- 
oricians. He  has  published  several  volumes  of  sermons 
and  lectures,  and  is  fond  of  displaying  his  scholarship. 
He  is  very  agreeable  personally,  and  numbers  his 
friends  by  hundreds. 

The  Hev.  Henry  W.  Bellows,  Unitarian,  resembles 
Chapin  somewhat,  and  is  near  him  in  reputation.  He 
is  a  native  of  Boston,  and  now  in  his  fifty-fifth  year. 
He  graduated  at  Harvard  before  he  was  nineteen,  and 
completed  his  theological  studies  at  Cambridge. 

During  the  late  Unitarian  national  convention,  he 
delivered  the  opening  sermon,  which  was  an  elaborate 
expression  of  his  beliefs  and  desires.  He  severely,  even 
bitterly,  censured  many  of  his  brethren ;  denounced 
speculation  as  dangerous  and  pernicious ;  declared  his 
faith  in  Jesus  Christ,  our  Saviour,  the  only  firm  rock  on 
which  to  stand ;  and,  for  two  hours,  spoke  as  if  he  had 
been  a  rigid  Baptist  or  Presbyterian.  In  the  conven- 
tion he  attacked  the  Hev.  0.  B.  Frothingham,  without 
mentioning  his  name,  and  entered  upon  issues  that  would 
have  rent  the  church  asunder,  had  not  oil  been  ingen- 
iously poured  upon  the  troubled  theologic  waters. 

He  became  pastor  of  the  First  Congregational  church 


Distinguished    Clergymen.  649 

here  in  1838,  and  now  presides  over  All  Souls,  irrever- 
ently called  the  Holy  Zebra,  Fourth  avenue  and  Twen- 
tieth street.  He  was  for  many  years  the  principal 
"writer  of  the  Christian  Inquirer,  which  he  was  largely 
instrumental  in  founding,  and  now  contributes  to  the 
Christian  Examiner.  He  is  a  popular  lecturer,  and  an 
eloquent,  though  rather  monotonous,  speaker,  with  many 
mannerisms.  Rhetoric  is  his  forte,  as  it  is  Chapin's,  and 
he  makes  the  most  of  it.  He  represents  the  orthodox 
class  of  Unitarians,  and  has  for  a  long  while  been  tend- 
ing to  the  usual  forms  of  theologic  worship.  He  has 
several  times  threatened  to  withdraw  from  the  Unitari- 
ans ;  nor  is  it  strange, — for  between  himself  and  those 
who  claim  to  be  the  most  liberal,  there  is  almost  as 
much  difference  as  between  Universalists  and  Cal- 
vinists. 

Ten  or  tw^elve  years  ago  he  created  a  sensation  by 
advocating  theaters  and  theatrical  amusements.  The 
broad  church  applauded,  and  the  orthodox  were  indig- 
nant, and  all  over  the  country  the  theme  was  earnestly 
discussed  by  religious  and  secular  journals.  He  was 
here  regarded  as  the  exponent  of  the  broad  church;  but 
since  then  he  has  grown  very  conservative,  and  it  has 
been  rumored  again  and  again  that  he  was  about  to  dis- 
own all  connection  with  the  Unitarians. 

Bellows  is  tall,  dark-complexioned,  bald,  rather  patri- 
archal in  appearance,  and,  if  not  opposed,  gracious  and 
gentle.  His  salary  is  $10,000,  and  his  circumstances 
all  that  can  be  reasonably  desired.  He  has  written  a 
great  deal,  though  most  of  his  writings  are  pamphlets 
on  current  topics,  on  which  he  took  a  decided  stand  for 
or  against  the  question  at  issue. 

The  Rev.  William  Adams  is  the  best  known  of  the 


650  The   Great   Metropolis. 

Presbyterian  clergymen  in  the  City.  He  is  the  pastor 
of  Madison  Square  church,  one  of  the  most  fashionable 
in  the  Metropolis,  and  his  congregation  has  the  reputation 
of  the  wealthiest  in  the  country.  Bankers,  politicians, 
merchants,  and  professional  men  of  note,  are  members 
of  his  church;  and  it  is  stated  that  more  prominent 
citizens  can  be  found  there  than  in  any  other  place  of 
worship  in  Manhattan.  He  has  many  enthusiastic 
admirers,  who  consider  him  exceedingly  eloquent.  It 
is  a  pity  his  eloquence  can  not  induce  his  hearers  who 
operate  in  Wall  street,  and  pull  political  wires,  to  be 
more  honest  and  upright  in  their  dealings. 

Adams  is  a  native  of  Connecticut ;  but  while  a  child, 
his  fother — a  teacher  of  distinction — removed  to  Massa- 
chusetts. William  was  always  of  a  religious  turn,  and 
exhibited  an  interest  in  the  Bible  and  theological  works 
at  so  tender  an  age  as  to  awaken  surprise  and  delight 
among  his  father's  friends.  He  w^as  regarded  as  a 
pious  prodigy,  and  frequently  entered  upon  discussions 
with  ministers  of  reputation,  and  confounded  them  with 
his  questions  and  his  arguments. 

He  came  to  New-York  thirty  years  ago  for  the  benefit 
of  his  health ;  and,  while  spending  the  winter  here,  was 
induced  to  accept  the  pulpit  of  the  Broome  Street  church. 
For  the  last  fourteen  years,  he  has  been  in  Madison 
square,  and  he  attracts  every  Sunday  a  very  large 
and  highly  cultivated  congregation. 

He  is  very  unlike  Beecher,  Bellows,  or  Chapin,  in  the 
style  of  his  sermons  and  delivery.  He  has  a  horror  of 
what  is  known  as  sensationalism,  and  consequently  his 
sermons  are  simple  and  severe,  but  forcible  and 
convincing.  He  is  a  man  of  large  and  varied  reading, 
but  like  a  man  of  true    culture,   he    shows   it  in   his 


Distinguished   Clergymen.  651 

thought  instead  of  in  display  of  needless  learning.  He 
has  the  usual  $10,000  salary,  and  could  have  thrice 
this  sum  if  he  lYould  accept  it  He  has  written  several 
volumes,  which  breathe  a  spirit  of  eloquent  devotion, 
and  have  large  sales. 

He  is  considered  a  model  of  what  a  clergyman  should 
be  in  appearance,  bearing,  and  even  in  costume.  He  is 
said  to  exercise  a  very  wholesome  influence  on  young 
men,  who  are  much  attached  to  him.  He  has,  from  his 
early  years,  been  interested  in  foreign  missions  and  in 
bible  societies  and  has  been  intimately  acquainted 
with  eminent  men  zealous  and  energetic  in  the  cause 
of  Christianity.  Though  not  far  from  sixty,  he  is  still  in 
the  vigor  of  health,  and  has  years  of  earnest  and  valua- 
ble work  before  him. 

The  Rev.  H.  B.  Ridgaway  presides  over  St.  Pauls,  in 
Fourth  avenue, — the  most  fashionable  and  the  wealthiest 
of  the  Methodist  churches  in  "the  United  States. 
The  Methodists  pay  smaller  salaries  than  the  other 
denominations,  and  Ridgaway  receives  but  $5,000,  which 
is  the  maximum  rate.  According  to  the  rule  of  the 
church,  no  minister  preaches  more  than  three  years  to 
the  same  congregation,  which  prevents  it  from  forming 
a  strong  attachment  to  its  pastor,  as  it  might  otherwise 
do.  Ridgaway  is  young, — not  yet  forty.  He  is  small  in 
stature ;  dark  and  pale ;  yet  looks  as  if  he  had  studied 
hard,  and  led  a  very  abstemious,  if  not  ascetic  life.  He 
is  neither  showy  nor  brilliant,  but  is  a  close  reasoner, 
and  gives  entire  satisfaction  to  his  flock.  He  formerly 
had  charge  of  a  congregation  in  Baltimore,  and  is  a  new, 
though  by  no  means  unwelcome,  citizen  and  clergyman 
in  this  paradise  of  preachers. 

The  Rev.  Henry  C.  Potter  is  the  new  pastor  of  Grace 


652  The   Great   Metropolis. 

church.  He  is  the  son  of  the  eminent  bishop,  and  has 
already  obtained  a  strong  hold  upon  the  fashionable 
worshipers  at  that  most  fashionable  temple.  He  is 
about  forty,  and  well  qualified  to  please  his  fastidious 
and  critical  congregation.  He  is  called  handsome  by  his 
feminine  parishioners.  He  has  an  intellectual,  student- 
like face ;  clear,  expressive  eyes ;  and  fine  brown 
whiskers,  worn  after  the  English  style.  He  has  a  rich, 
well  modulated  voice,  and  reads  the  litany  in  an  im- 
pressive and  artistic  manner,  that  delights  his  hearers. 
After  the  death  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Taylor,  Grace  found 
much  difficulty  in  supplying  his  place.  It  offered 
$15,000  as  salary,  but  no  one  came  that  was  deemed 
suitable.  It  then  reduced  the  sum  to  the  regular  rate, 
and  Potter,  having  been  put  upon  trial,  was  pronounced 
the  man  after  whom  the  church  had  been  seeking. 
The  parsonage  is  exceedingly  pleasant,  and  it  and  all  the 
surroundings  of  Grace  are  so  desirable  that  the  bishop^s 
son  may  well  regard  himself  as  fortunate. 

The  Rev.  Thomas  Armitage,  among  the  Baptist 
clergy,  is,  perhaps,  the  most  conspicuous.  He  holds 
divine  service  in  the  Fifth  avenue  Baptist  church — a 
handsome  and  imposing  edifice,  that  is  always  well 
attended.  He  is  a  prime  favorite.  His  style  of  com- 
position is  more  picturesque  than  that  of  most  ministers 
of  his  creed,  and  his  elocution  graceful  and  winning. 
He  has  been  called  theatric;  but  that  adjective  is 
rarely  applied  to  men  who  are  not  open  to  the  suspicion 
of  eloquence.  He  is  about  forty -five  has  a  heavy  frame 
and  a  large  face,  which  looks  larger  from  the  entire 
absence  of  whiskers  or  mustache  ;  wears  his  hair  long; 
and  reminds  you  somewhat  of  Beecher  in  his  personal 
appearance.     He   has    a   very   nervous    manner,    that 


Distinguished   Clergymen.  653 

shows  intensity  and  earnestness,  but  does  not  add  to 
the  effect  of  his  oratory. 

Eev.  Octavius  B.  Frothingham  is  one  of  the  three 
Unitarian  clergymen,  and  the  most  radical,  in  the  City. 
He  represents  the  most  liberal  wing  of  his  church,  as 
Dr.  Bellows  does  the  most  orthodox.  He  is  a  come- 
outer,  and  the  most  eminent  of  the  kind.  Creed  and 
dogmas  are  of  no  importance  to  him.  What  a  man  does, 
rather  than  what  he  believes,  is  the  essence  of  his 
Christianity.  He  has  faith  in  culture,  in  just  deeds,  in 
humanity,  in  self-sacrifice,  in  devotion.  Where  one's 
work  is  honest,  earnest,  noble,  the  Avorker  can  not  be 
seriously  wrong,  whatever  his  form  of  belief  or  disbelief. 

Frothingham  is  a  native  of  Massachusetts,  a  graduate 
of  Harvard ;  studied  theology  in  the  divinity  school  at 
Cambridge,  and  has  been  regarded  as  a  disciple  of 
Theodore  Parker,  many  of  whose  opinions,  and  all  of 
whose  sympathies,  he  shares.  Still  he  can  not  be  justly 
called  a  Parkerite ;  for  he  accepts  no  man's  views  until 
his  mental  process  makes  them  his  own. 

He  is  eminently  an  individual ;  does  not  claim  to-day 
that  he  knows  what  ho  will  think  or  do  to-morrow.  He 
believes  in  progress,  development,  purity,  charity,  and  un- 
selfishness :  these  are  the  sum  of  all  religion.  Heis  entire- 
ly democratic  in  his  opinions,  and  sternly  opposed  to  forms. 
For  a  long  while  he  was  unwilling  to  have  a  church, 
preferring  to  preach  in  public  halls,  on  account  of  what 
he  conceived  to  be  the  greater  freedom  of  such  places. 
But  he  was  overruled  by  his  congregation,  who  built  a 
neat  and  elegant  edifice  in  Fortieth  street,  known  as  the 
Third  Congregational  Church,  where  service  is  regularly 
held.  His  hearers  are  not  many ;  but  they  are  among 
the  most  intellectual  and  cultivated  in  New-York. 


654  The   Great   Metropolis. 

A  number  of  journalists  and  artists,  authors  and  pro- 
fessional men  go  there,  and  they  listen  to  his  discourses 
sympathetically  but  critically.  No  one  who  hears 
Frothingham  can  doubt  he  is  a  thinker,  however  much 
he  may  fail  to  take  the  view  of  the  hearer.  The  minister 
is  rather  a  small  man,  about  forty-six,  with  a  nervous, 
eager,  fine  face,  excellent  manners,  and  thoroughly  well 
bred  because  reposeful  air.  He  has  long,  wavy  hair, 
sprinkled  with  gray ;  dresses  neatly,  even  elegantly, 
and  gives  the  impression  of  fastidiousness  and  daintiness 
in  every  thing. 

He  often  speaks  extemporaneously,  and  very  well. 
His  written  sermons  are  vigorous,  eloquent  and  polished. 
He  is  very  quiet,  rarely  gesticulating,  but  reads  from 
his  manuscript  in  a  soft,  sweet  voice  the  convictions  of 
his  heart,  the  freshest  ideas  of  his  brain,  gracefully  and 
classically  expressed.  He  is  thought  by  many  affected, 
but  he  is  not,  though  it  is  probable  that  what  were 
mannerisms  at  first  are  natural  now.  He  is  a  clever 
writer;  contributes  to  the  Radical,  the  Nation,  and 
other  periodicals.  He  has  been  accused  of  coldness, 
but  his  life  is  earnest,  generous,  and  beautiful ; 
and  he  has  warm  friendships,  that  have  continued 
through  years. 

Rev.  Samuel  Osgood  is  the  pastor  of  the  new  Church 
of  the  Messiah,  one  of  the  most  costly  in  town,  in  Park 
avenue,  but  not  in  the  best  taste.  Osgood  seems  to 
stand  midway  between  his  two  Unitarian  brothers.  Bel- 
lows and  Frothingham,  neither  so  conservative  as  the  one, 
nor  so  radical  as  the  other.  He  is  not  very  individual 
in  his  views,  and  inclines  to  form  and  ceremony  almost 
as  much  as  an  Episcopalian;  wearing  a  black  silk  gown 


Distinguished    Clergymen.  655 

during  service,  and  surrounding  himself  with  all  that 
can  add  to  his  ministerial  dignity. 

He  is  from  Massachusetts  also.  He  is  the  successor 
of  Dr.  Orville  Dewey,  and  has  been  in  the  pulpit  here 
for  nearly  twenty  years.  He  has  read  a  great  deal, — ■ 
more  than  he  has  digested  perhaps ;  is  receptive  rather 
than  creative,  and  is  thought  to  have  modeled  himself 
somewhat,  though  unconsciously,  upon  Dr.  Bellows. 

His  sermons  are  committed  to  memory,  after  being 
written  with  great  care,  and  abound  in  quotations, 
learned  allusions,  studied  alliteration,  and  all  the  tempt- 
ing vices  of  ornamental  rhetoric.  He  is  thoroughly 
self-appreciative,  and  would  be  more  effective  and  inter- 
esting if  less  self-conscious  and  apparently  affected.  He 
is  very  popular  with  his  congregation,  and  has  decided 
talent,  though  no  genius.  He  has  written  a  number  of 
books,  and  contributes  freely  to  the  magazines.  Among 
his  writings  is  an  autobiography  under  the  title  of 
"Mile  Stones  on  Life's  Journey,"  which  attracted  much 
attention,  and  sold  largely. 

He  is  very  fond  of  writing  and  speaking,  and  has 
delivered  numerous  orations  before  colleges,  societies, 
and  on  public  occasions.  He  is  of  the  §10,000  salary 
number,  and  has  a  very  handsome  property.  He  owns  a 
pleasant  house  in  town  and  a  fine  country  seat  at  Plain- 
field,  Conn.,  where  he  spends  the  Summer  in  picturesque 
and  luxurious  retirement.  A  lucky  man  is  Samuel 
Osgood.  He  enjoys  the  material  things  of  life  as  w^ell 
as  the  spiritual  -things ;  is  fond  of  society,  and  is  the 
companion  of  artists  and  litterateurs  as  often  as  his 
clerical  duties,  which  are  numerous,  will  permit. 

Rev.  Morgan  Dix,  of  Trinity,  is  the  apostle  of  High 
Churchism;   has  chants,  surpliced  singers,  and  all  the 


656       •  The  Great   Metropolis. 

pomp  of  ritualism,  and  would  have  still  more  forms  if 
he  had  his  own  way.  He  is  the  son  of  General  Dix, 
a  man  of  good  ability,  an  agreeable  preacher,  and  dear 
to  the  heart  of  his  congregation. 

Rev.  Stephen  H.  Tyng,  Jr.,  is  the  antipodes  of  Dix. 
Not  many  months  since  he  drew  upon  himself  the  condem- 
nation of  a  portion  of  the  Episcopal  Church  for  entering 
the  pulpit  of  a  Methodist  clergyman  in  New  Brunswick, 
N.  J.,  and  his  trial  elicited  the  comments  of  the  press 
far  and  wide.  That  trial  was  an  excellent  thing  for 
Tyng's  reputation;  for  ever  since  he  has  been  among 
the  most  talked-of  clergymen  in  the  City.  His  congre- 
gation believed  that  he  was  persecuted ;  regarded  him 
as  a  martyr,  and  formed  a  new  and  deeper  affection  for 
him  than  they  had  ever  experienced  before. 

The  younger  Tyng  is  an  earnest  and  eloquent  advo- 
cate of  Low  Churchism ;  as  thoroughly  democratic  in 
his  feelings  and  sympathies  as  Dix  is  aristocratic.  He 
has  of  late  been  preaching  to  the  people  in  the  street,  as 
a  protest  no  doubt  against  chants,  and  choristers,  and 
the  intoned  service  of  Trinity. 

His  open-air  sermons  have  been  largely  attended,  and 
his  popularity  has  greatly  increased.  He  is  the  rector 
of  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Trinity,  Madison  avenue  and 
Forty-second  street.  He  is  slight,  pale,  rather  emaci- 
ated, intense  and  eager  in  temperament,  speaking  with 
force  and  animation,  and  compelling  the  attention  of  his 
hearers. 

The  Episcopalians  have  various  grades  and  degrees  of 
creed  and  ceremony.  Rev.  C.  W.  Morrill,  of  St.  Al- 
bans, in  Lexington  avenue,  is  the  extremist  in  his  ritual- 
ism. At  that  chapel,  incense,  miters,  croziers,  banners, 
and  all  the   elaborate  forms  of  Catholicism,  are  to  be 


Distinguished  Clergymen.  657 

seen.  Morrill  has  the  title  of  Father.  He  has  estab- 
lished auricular  confession,  and  there  is  little  difference 
between  his  and  the  Roman  service,  save  that  his  is  in 
English.  Many  of  his  fair  parishioners  are  devoted  to 
him,  and  never  weary  in  performing  any  tasks  or  sacri- 
fices he  may  intimate  as  desirable.  He  is  a  large,  strong 
man,  the  opposite  of  an  ascetic  in  appearance,  positive, 
imperious  at  times,  and  yet  full  of  soft  persuasion,  and 
very  winning  in  his  manners. 

Rev.  F.  C*  Ewer,  of  Christ's  Church,  Fifth  avenue 
and  Thirty-fifth  street,  has  distinguished  himself  by  de- 
claring Protestantism  a  failure.  He  is  trying  to  do  what 
Pusey  did ;  and  yet  he  does  not  go  half  so  far  in  cere- 
mony as  ''  Father"  Morrill.  He  is  a  large,  dark  man, 
broad  forehead,  deep-chested ;  has  a  vigorous  mind,  and 
seems  to  hold  his  congregation  by  the  strings  of  their 
hearts. 

Rev.  Chauncey  Giles,  of  the  New  Jerusalem  Cbtirch, 
Thirty-fifth  street,  between  Fourth  and  Lexington  ave- 
nues, is  a  very  able  man  and  an  effective  reasoner.  He 
is  a  native  of  Massachusetts ;  w^ent  West  and  taught 
school ;  was  stationed  in  Cincinnati  for^some  years,  and 
is  now  firmly  established  here.  His  congregation,  less 
than  five  hundred  in  number,  is  enthusiastic  about  him, 
and  would  not  part  w^ith  him  on  any  terms.  He  is  of 
massive  mold,  conveying  the  impression  of  both  physi- 
cal and  mental  strength ;  has  profound  and  varied  culture, 
and  deserves  his  reputation  of  a  scholar  and  thinker. 

Archbishop  McCloskey  is  much  loved  by  an  immense 
population  of  Catholics.  He  is  an  earnest  but  quiet 
prelate,  appearing  particularly  so  in  contrast  with  his 
predecessor.  Archbishop  Hughes,  to  whom  controversy 
was  as  the  bread  of  life.     He  is  a  pleasant,  urbane,  and 

42 


658  The   Gkeat   Metropolis. 

learned  gentleman,  and  has  many  warm  friends  among 
all  sects.  He  is  a  fluent  and  an  interesting  talker,  and 
universally  esteemed. 

Samuel  Adler  is  the  Rabbi  of  the  Jewish  Temple,  No. 
112  East  Twelfth  street,  the  handsomest  and  costhest 
synagogue  in  the  countr}^.  The  Hebrews  who  worship 
there  are  of  the  most  liberal  sort,  and  he  is  held  in  high 
repute  for  his  learning.  He  has  all  the  marked  features 
of  his  race,  and  is  a  man  of  fine  mind  and  great  force 
of  character. 


J 


LXXXIII. 


JOHN     ALLEN,     THE     WICKEDEST    MAN. 

John  Allen,  the  notorious  wickedest  man,  of  No. 
304  Water  street,  having  had  his  day,  has  fallen  almost 
entirely  out  of  the  public  eye.  It  is  singular  what  effect 
a  superlative  will  have  upon  the  community.  John 
Allen's  dance-house  had  been  visited  and  described  again 
and  again  by  correspondents  and  magazine-writers  ;  but 
they  did  not  give  his  name  or  address,  nor  have  the 
audacity  to  apply  the  superlative  to  him.  When  an 
unknown  writer  told  Allen's  story  in  plain  language  in 
a  sensational  monthly,  Allen  became  notorious,  and  the 
biographer  shared  his  subject's  notoriety.  Of  course, 
every  one  w^anted  to  know  about  the  wickedest  man  in 
New-York,  where  there  are  thousands  of  such,  each  one 
of  whom  thinks  he  deserves  the  distinction.  Conse- 
quently everybody  read  the  sketch,  and  a  crowd  of 
people,  both  residents  and  strangers,  hurried  to  Water 
street,  to  see  and  talk  to  the  moral  monster. 

Allen,  a  singular  compound  of  conceit  and  coarseness, 
was  delighted  to  find  himself  a  hero,  and  wishing  to 
continue  the  character,  declared  to  the  wistful  clergy- 
men who  crowded  about  him  begging  him  to  reform, 
that  he  had  experienced  a  change  of  heart,  and  was 
determined  to  lead  a  new  life.  Allen  had  always  been 
inclined  to  theological  discussion ;  and  considered  him- 


660  The   Great   Metropolis. 

self  a  sort  of  preacher  because  he  had  brothers  in  the 
pulpit.  He  was  quite  familiar  with  the  Bible ;  and  to 
repeat  its  passages,  interlarding  them  with  obscene 
stories,  to  mix  religion  with  his  rum,  and  quote  Genesis 
over  his  gin,  were  his  favorite  recreations.  Allen  should 
have  been  a  Methodist  exhorter — his  mind  and  temper- 
ament impelled  him  in  that  direction;  but  the  influence 
of  early  associations  and  something  of  the  unregenerate 
evil  of  his  nature  drove  him  upon  bar-rooms  and  dance- 
houses  for  a  livelihood.  He  was  in  his  element  with 
the  clergymen  about  him,  and  when  they  proposed 
prayer-meetings  in  his  establishment  he  leaped  at  the 
chance  of  continuing  the  sensation. 

For  weeks  No.  304  was  the  scene  of  fervid  reliirious 
exercises.  Curiosity  filled  the  place,  where  there  was 
abundant  opportunity  to  point  a  moral  and  adorn  a  tale. 
Allen  was  alluded  to  as  a  monument  of  God's  mercy, 
and  as  a  brand  snatched  from  the  burning.  Several  of 
the  unfortunate  women  he  had  employed  became  affected 
through  their  unstrung  nerves  with  the  spirit  of  the 
hour,  and  from  tippling  wantons  became  weeping  Mag- 
dalens.  The  wickedest  man  enjoyed  all  that  excessively. 
It  appealed  to  his  love  of  excitement,  and  he  was  heard 
to  say  privately  that  the  dance-house  was  a  d — d  fool 
to  the  prayer-meeting. 

After  awhile  religion  began  to  cloy  upon  Allen.  He 
craved  a  new  sensation,  and  concluded  to  lecture.  Pie 
went  to  Stamford,  Conn.,  wdth  an  essay  he  had  paid 
some  New-York  reporter  to  write  for  him,  and  had  a 
select  and  sympathetic  audience  of  six.  Then  he  visited 
Bridgeport,  and  was  about  to  make  confession  of  his 
past  errors  and  present  repentance,  when  he  had  a  first- 
class  attack  of  delirium  tremens. 


John   Allen,   the   Wickedest   Man.  661 

After  that  Allen  retired  from  the  lecture  field  ;  re- 
turned to  this  City  ;  proclaiming  his  intention  to  resume 
his  original  business.  The  police  notified  him  if  he 
did,  that  they  would  arrest  him  and  his  girls  every 
night.  He  defied  them,  and  opened  his  dance-house 
again.  The  police  kept  their  word.  They  arrested 
Allen  and  all  his  supernumeraries,  though  he  was  no 
more  guilty  than  dozens  of  other  dance-house  keepers 
in  that  neighborhood,  who  are  never  molested.  But  that 
is  the  way  the  Metropolitan  police  have  of  doing  things ; 
and  as  it  is  much  less  mischievous  than  many  other  of 
their  ways,  perhaps  it  is  unwise  to  complain.  They  had 
formed  a  prejudice  against  Allen,  who,  they  professed, 
had  shocked  their  moral  sense  by  his  duplicity,  and 
they  would  have  locked  him  up  ev/ery  time  he  gave  his 
fandangoes.  That  he  did  not  like.  So  he  offered  his 
notorious  den  for  sale,  and  went  to  Connecticut,  where 
he  could  enjoy  his  delirium  tremens  without  the 
interference  of  the  police. 

The  last  has  been  heard  of  John  Allen.  He  is  an 
exploded  sensation.  Water  street  is  not  likely  to  see 
again  his  broad  forehead  and  rather  intelligent  face,  his 
keen  blue  eye,  light  hair,  thin  jaw,  and  spare  side- 
whiskers,  above  a  well-knit,  compact  frame.  He  may 
turn  up  as  a  preacher  or  as  a  prize  fighter, — it  is  about 
an  even  thing, — ^but  his  career  as  a  rum-seller  and  dance- 
house  keeper  is  over.  He  can  repose  upon  his  laurels ; 
for  he  has  made  $100,000  by  his  shameful  calling,  and 
declares  he  doesn't  want  to  make  any  more. 

What  is  termed  the  religious  awakening,  however, 
continues  in  Water  street.  No.  304  is  shut  up;  but  at 
No.  316  daily  prayer-meetings  are  held  under  the  au- 
spices of  the  Howard  Mission,  and  are  productive  of 


662  The    Great   Metropolis. 

much  good.  Many  of  the  papers  and  people  ridiculed 
the  attempt  at  a  great  revival,  and  referred  to  John 
Allen's  backsliding  as  an  evidence  of  its  hollowness  ; 
but  the  effort,  in  addition  to  its  praiseworthiness,  has 
borne  excellent  fruit.  No  one  will  say  that  prayer- 
meetings,  even  if  their  success  be  limited,  are  not  better 
than  common  prostitution,  constant  intemperance,  and 
riots  of  sensuality.  Let  the  prayer-meetings  continue! 
They  may  help  to  purify  the  atmosphere  of  Water 
street,  and  fill  its  darkest  places  with  rays  of  hopeful 
light. 


I 


CHAPTER  LXXXIV. 

,  MAKK    M.    POMEROY. 

Mark  M.  Pomeeoy  lias  recently  become  a  citizen  of 
the  Metropolis.  The  extraordinary  success  he  had  with 
the  La  Crosse  (Wis.)  Democrat  convinced  him  that  he 
needed  a  larger  field  and  a  more  appreciative  audience 
than  a  Western  town  could  give  him ;  and  therefore  he 
is  here.  On  this  propitious  Island  he  has  set  up  his 
new  daily,  the  Democrat^  and  w^ill  soon  issue  his  weekly 
from  the  same  office.  He  says  he  has  prospered  beyond 
his  most  sanguine  expectations,  and  that  the  Democrat 
is  already  firmly  established.  His  non-admirers  affirm 
that  he  is  losing  money  rapidly,  and  that  he  must  fail ; 
that  the  notoriety  of  his  paper  made  it  sell  for  a  few 
weeks,  but  that  it  attracts  no  attention  now.  Pomeroy 
is  a  notability.  A  violent  and  reckless  course,  that  w^ould 
have  ruined  most  men,  seems  to  have  helped  him  to 
fortune.  His  perpetual  and  violent  abuse  of  President 
Lincoln,  of  the  Army,  of  the  AVar,  of  the  Union  cause, 
was  quite  enough  to  kill  his  paper,  which  has,  however, 
flourished  greatly.  If  it  had  not,  he  would  not  have 
had  the  boldness  to  come  to  New- York  and  issue  a  daily, 
where  there  are  journals  in  excess. 

Pomeroy  was  born  in  Lawrenceville,  Penn.,  on  Christ- 
mas Bay,  in  1833;  his  father  being  a  New- York  mer- 
chant, still  living,  and  in  California.     His  mother  died 


664  The    Great   Metropolis.  * 

when  he  was  an  infant,  and  an  uncle  adopted  him.  He 
lived  on  a  farm  and  worked  hard  till  he  was  seventeen, 
being  reared  according  to  the  severe  and  somewhat 
somber  teachings  of  the  Presbyterian  church,  which  his 
mature  writings  seem  to  have  reflected.  In  his  eighteenth 
year  he  went  into  a  printing  office  in  Corning,  in  this 
State,  and  there  mastered  the  art  preservative.  He 
afterward  went  to  Waverly,  and  then  to  Canada  West, 
w^here  he  remained  for  several  years.  In  1857  he'^ 
removed  his  local  habitation  to  Wisconsin.  He  there 
embarked  in  several  newspaper  enterprises,  and  was  at 
one  time  local  reporter  of  the  Milwaukee  Neivs.  When 
he  undertook  the  Democrat,  at  La  Crosse,  he  found  his 
place.  There,  and  with  that,  he  became  known  far  and 
wide  ;  all  his  political  opponents  quoting  his  opinions  and 
sentiments  to  injure  his  party,  and  most  of  his  allies 
consigning  him  to  perdition  for  his  audacity. 

Pomeroy  is  better  known  as  "  Brick  "  than  Mark,  the 
sobriquet  having  been  given  him,  it  is  said,  by  the 
Louisville  (Ky.)  Journal,  because  of  his  clever  execu- 
tion of  a  local  sketch  copied  into  its  columns.  He  is  an 
energetic  and  persevering  fellow,  vindictive  and  bitter  to 
the  last  degree.  One  of  the  most  earnest  and  persistent 
efforts  of  his  late  life  has  been  to  prove  that  Abraham 
Lincoln,  whom  the  whole  Nation  believes  to  have  been 
both  a  great  and  a  good  man,  and  who  was  one  of  the  fore- 
most characters  of  the  Republic,  is  irrevocably  damned, 
or,  as  the  Democrat  tersely  expresses  it,  has  gone  to 
hell.  Pomeroy's  opinion  may  be  entitled  to  weight,  for 
he  speaks  like  an  accredited  representative  of  the  place, 
and  as  if  he  felt  sure  of  finding  the  noble  martyr  there. 
Another  purpose  of  Pomeroy's  existence  is  to  abuse 
General  Butler,  to  whom  he  gave  the  title  of  the  Beast, 


Mark  M.   Pomeroy.  665 

and  whose  name  he  has  associated  with  the  plunder  of 
spoons  He  has  always  declared  Butler's  father  was 
hanged  for  piracy,  though  Butler  himself  has  no  knowl- 
edge of  the  fact.  Pomeroy,  in  his  private  life,  is  said  to 
be  amiable,  and  strongly  attached  to  his  friends,  which 
is  probable,  as  he  is  certainly  attached  to  his  foes.  He 
is  a  mild-looking  man,  bald  above  the  forehead,  blue-eyed, 
of  the  medium  height,  rather  heavy  and  not  very  pre- 
possessing features. 

He  is  reported  to  have  many  of  the  physical  virtues ; 
to  abstain  from  liquor,  profanity,  and  tobacco ;  though 
I  can't  help  believing  that  a  man  who  has  so  much 
abuse  to  heap  upon  the  dead  Lincoln  and  living  Butler 
can  hardly  find  time  to  indulge  in  the  smaller  vices  I 
have  named.  Pomeroy  is  self-made,  a  perpetual  clam- 
orer  foT  Democracy  and  the  rights  of  the  People,  and 
on  the  best  of  terms  with  his  maker. 


CHAPTER  LXXXY. 
EMINENT    BUSINESS    MEN. 

Few  business  men  in  NeAv-York  who  have  shown 
judgment,  energy,  and  prudence  have  failed  of  success. 
Nearly  all  of  them  have  accumulated  fortunes  in  a  few 
years  ]  for  in  this  great  center  the  path  of  good  manage- 
ment soon  strikes  the  road  to  prosperity.  Once  to  get 
a  foothold  here  is  to  grow  rich,  because  the  moment  a 
house  is  fairly  established  trade  flows  in  upon  it  from 
every  part  of  the  country.  The  merchants  of  the  Me- 
tropolis are  truly  merchant  princes  in  w^ealth  and  their 
luxurious  style  of  living.  Hundreds  who  are  never 
heard  of  off  the  Island,  and  who  are  little  known  on  it, 
reckon  their  property  at  $500,000,  $600,000,  $800,000, 
and  often  by  more  than  $1,000,000 ;  nor  is  it  strange, 
for  Broadway,  Church,  White  street,  and  West  Broad- 
way, supply  the  markets  of  the  United  States. 

One  of  the  oldest  and  best  known  firms  is  Grinnell, 
Minturn  &  Co.  This  shipping  house  is  located  at  No. 
78  South  street,  and  though  the  old  name  is  retained, 
the  business  is  conducted  by  the  sons  of  the  original 
partners.  The  business  of  the  house  is  small  compared 
to  what  it  used  to  be,  for  the  War  gave  a  blow  to  our 
shipping  interests,  from  which  they  have  not  yet 
recovered.  Hobert  B.  Minturn,  who  was  universally 
esteemed  in  social  and  commercial  circles  died  two  years 


Eminent   Business    Men.  667 

ago,  and  Moses  II.  Grinnell,  a  most  creditable  type  of 
the  old  school  merchant,  takes  no  active  part  in  the 
business.  He  is  the  President  of  the  Sun  Insurance 
Company,  at  $10,000  a  year,  and  his  name  is  mentioned 
in  connection  with  a  lucrative  office  durinor  the  incomin2: 
administration.  The  name  of  Grinnell  became  widely 
known  by  the  expedition  Henry,  Moses'  brother,  and 
one  of  the  original  members  of  the  firm,  fitted  out  ten 
or  twelve  years  ago,  for  the  search  of  Sir  John  Franklin, 
and  in  which  laudable  undertaking  he  spent  a  large  sum 
of  money.  Moses  was  born  in  New"  Bedford,  Mass.,  was 
bred  a  merchant,  and  was  a  representative  in  Congress 
from  New  York  from  1839  to  1 841.  He  is  sixty-five  ;  has 
white  hair  and  whiskers,  florid  complexion,  and  is  quite 
English-looking.  He  is  very  afiable  and  courteous  ;  has 
been  in  times  past  a  profuse  entertainer,  and  is  still  a  very 
pleasant  companion.  He  was  to  South  street  what  Jacob 
Little  was  to  Wall  street.  He  formerly  resided  in  the 
house  occupied  by  Delmonico,  in  Fourteenth  street,  but 
now  lives  at  Irvington,  on  the  Hudson. 

Howland,  Aspinwall  cfe  Co.,  another  famous  shipping 
house,  are  at  No.  54  South  street.  It  is  conducted  by 
Gardiner  G.  Howland  and  Samuel  and  Wm.  H.  Aspin- 
wall, and  though  still  doing  a  large  business,  it  is  much 
less  extended  than  it  has  been.  The  firm  formerly 
owmed  numerous  vessels  in  the  California  and  trans- 
Atlantic  trade  ;  but  the  War  so  prostrated  our  commerce 
as  to  interfere  largely  with  their  interests.  Gardiner 
G.  Howland  lives  in  affluence  ;  dispenses  elegant  hospi- 
talities ;  drives  fast  horses;  stands  high  on  'Change  and 
in  fashionable  circles. 

Horace  B.  Claflin  &  Co.,  after  Stewart,  do  the  heavi- 
est business  in  dry-goods  in  the  Union.     Indeed,  Claf- 


668  The    Great   Metropolis. 

lin's  wholesale  trade  is  larger  than  that  of  Stewart,  who, 
by  adding  his  retail  department,  swells  his  aggregate 
sales  beyond  those  of  his  energetic  rival.  Claflin's  im- 
mense house  occupies  half  of  the  whole  block  on  Church, 
Worth,  and  West  Broadway;  is,  Ste  wharfs  up-town  bazaar 
excepted,  the  finest  and  most  conspicuous  in  the  whole 
City.  Claflin  employs  600  or  700  persons  in  his  estab- 
lishment, and  pays  liberal  salaries  to  all  of  them,  giving 
his  confidential  clerk  $25,000  a  year.  He  is  a  native  of 
New-England;  has  a  '^down-East"  appearance;  being 
thin,  angular,  smooth-shaven,  energetic,  prompt,  and 
direct  in  his  dealings.  He  is  much  more  popular  than 
Stewart ;  has  the  reputation  of  being  liberal  in  his 
relations,  both  mercantile  and  private,  and  is  highly 
esteemed  by  his  employes.  He  is  probably  w^orth 
$12,000,000  to  $15,000,000,  and  his  trade  extends  to 
all  the  States,  the  Territories,  Canada,  and  South 
America.  During  the  busy  season  his  store  looks  like 
a  human  bee-hive.  The  sidewalks  on  the  three  sides  of 
the  vast  building  are  covered  with  boxes,  bales,  and 
cases,  directed  to  every  town  and  village  in  the  United 
States.  Every  ship  that  comes  to  the  port,  and  touches 
at  our  piers,  brings  merchandise  for  him ;  and  his  name 
is  written  in  the  ledgers  of  all  the  great  firms  of  Man- 
chester, Glasgow,  and  London,  Paris,  Hamburg,  and 
Berlin.  His  business  increases  every  season,  and  his 
is  the  one  controlling,  directing  mind  that  computes 
millions  as  easily  as  some  men's  does  pennies. 

Abiel  A.  Low  has  been  twice  elected  President  of 
the  Chamber  of  Commerce,  and  his  house,  A.  A.  Low  & 
Brothers,  stands  at  the  head  of  the  China  trade.  Low 
is  a  native  of  Salem,  Mass.,  the  son  of  Seth  Low,  him- 
self an  eminent  merchant,  and  in  his   early  manhood 


Eminent   Business    Men.  669 

removed  to  this  City.  His  father  having  been  in  the 
China  trade,  the  young  man  wished  to  visit  that  coun- 
try to  acquire  a  knowledge  of  the  business.  He  did  so, 
and  soon  after  his  arrival  became  a  partner  in  the  well- 
known  house  of  Russell  &  Co.,  of  Canton.  He  remained 
in  the  firm  for  eight  years,  until  he  had  become  its 
head,  withdrawing  from  it  in  1841,  and  returning  to  the 
United  States.  The  same  year  he  established,  with  his 
two  brothers,  the  present  house,  which  is  at  No.  31  Bur- 
ling slip,  retaining  his  correspondents  in  China.  Messrs. 
Low  are  very  large  ship-owners.  Their  vessels  arrive 
with  teas,  silks,  crapes,  nankeens,  and  return  with  what 
the  Celestials  desire  in  exchange.  They  have  recently 
established  a  house  at  Yokahama,  and  have  large  inter- 
ests in  the  Japan  trade.  Low's  loyalty  to  the  Govern- 
ment during  the  War  was  unswerving  even  in  the  dark- 
est hours.  He  gave  his  money  freely  to  the  cause,  and 
has  always  been  a  generous  encourager  of  literature, 
education,  and  art.  He  lives  in  Brooklyn,  and  in  the 
midst  of  his  family  is  said  to  find  his  purest  enjoyment. 
E.  S.  Jaffray  &  Co.,  the  well  known  importers.  No. 
350  Broadway,  do  a  very  heavy  and  profitable  business, 
and  stand  very  high  in  mercantile  circles.  Their  large 
brown-stone  store  is  said  to  be  one  of  the  pleasantest  in 
town  to  be  employed  in.  Every  clerk,  and  salesman,  and 
carman,  and  porter  in  the  establishment  is  attached  to 
the  firm,  and  speaks  of  "  our  house"  with  a  natural  and 
praiseworthy  pride.  Jaffray  is  of  Scotch  extraction,  a 
sandy-haired,  sandy-complexioned  man,  with  many  of  the 
qualities  of  his  nationality.  His  word  is  literally  as 
good  as  his  bond.  He  is  frequently  chosen  umpire  and 
referee  by  his  fellow-merchants,  and  his  decision  is 
always  acquiesced  in. 


670  The    Great   Metropolis. 

He  has  never  been  known  to  take  any  unfair  advan- 
tage in  trade,  or  in  any  dealing  with  his  fellows.  When 
his  store  was  injured  by  the  burning  of  Chittenden's 
establishment,  Winter  before  last,  the  underwriters  sup- 
posed his  loss  was  large,  and  w^ould  gladly  have  paid 
him  $150,000  to  $200,000  for  damages.  He  said  it 
was  trifling,  however,  and  made  a  return  of  only  a  few 
thousands.  He  is  reported  to  be  worth  $5,000,000  or 
$6,000,000,  and  to  give  away  a  large  part  of  his  income 
in  charity. 

Jaffray,  judging  from  his  reputation,  is  a  model  mer- 
chant, after  whom  dozens  that  are  better  known  and 
much  richer  might  take  pattern  with  advantage  to  them- 
selves and  the  community  at  large. 

Jackson  S.  Schultz  is  one  of  our  largest  leather 
dealers,  at  No.  96  Cliff  street.  He  has  been  very 
successful  in  business,  having  begun  life  as  a  practical 
tanner,  and  is  probably  worth  $1,500,000  to  $2,000,000. 
He  owes  his  fortune  entirely  to  his  own  exertions.  He 
attends  personally  to  all  the  details  of  his  business  ;  but 
finds  ample  leisure  to  devote  to  charities  and  humanities 
of  every  kind.  He  was  for  a  long  while  President  of  the 
Board  of  Health,  which  owes  to  him  its  usefulness  if  not 
its  origin.  He  is  an  officer  and  director  in  many  of  the 
charitable  institutions,  and  on  an  average  spends  five  or 
six  hours  a  day  in  looking  after  the  good  and  happiness 
of  others. 

Few  men  are  busier  than  he,  or  have  more  to  attend 
to  ;  but  his  energy,  perseverance,  and  zeal  carry  him 
through  all  he  undertakes.  He  is  extremely  generous, 
and  hundreds  of-  persons  whom  he  has  forgotten,  speak 
with  enthusiastic  gratitude  of  the  favors  they  have  re- 
ceived at  his  hands. 


Eminent   Busmsss   Men".  671 

Sliultz  is  a  muscular,  shaggy-haired,  strong,  large- 
limbed,  large-hearted  man,  who  might  have  made  a  prize- 
fighter, if  nature  had  not  put  into  his  bosom  the  soul  of 
a  gentleman,  and  filled  his  blood  with  currents  of  ten- 
derness that  run  quickly  to  the  call  of  every  creature  in 
sorrow  and  distress. 

Among  the  numerous  publishing  houses  in  the  City 
the  Appletons  and  Harpers  stand  at  the  head  on  account 
of  their  age,  their  excellence,  and  their  great  wealth. 

D.  Appleton  &  Co.  is  still  the  style  of  the  firm,  though 
Daniel  Appleton,  the  founder  of  the  house,  has  long  since 
been  dead.  The  business  is  conducted  by  his  four  sons, 
the  eldest  of  w^hom  is  over  fifty,  and  the  youngest  two 
or  three  and  thirty.  The  story  current  that  Daniel 
Appleton  was  a  practical  printer,  came  early  to  the 
Metropolis,  and  nearly  half  a  century  ago  had  a  small 
printing  office  in  or  near  Pearl  street,  is  wdiolly  without 
foundation.  He  was  born  in  Haverhill,  Mass.;  was  a 
general  storekeeper  there  ;  afterward  removed  to  a  larger 
field  in  Boston,  and  subsequently  to  this  City.  Here  he 
began  the  importation  of  English  books,  and  from  the 
small  beginning  grew  up  a  very  considerable  business. 
He  changed  his  quarters  to  more  commodious  ones,  and 
soon  had  more  than  he  could  do.  From  that  time  till 
the  day  of  his  death  his  business  rapidly  and  regularly 
increased,  and  at  present  it  is  still  increasing. 

Appleton  &  Co.  have  recently  removed  from  their 
handsome  marble  store  in  Broadw^ay  to  the  new  building 
corner  of  Grand  and  Greene  streets,  and  have  their  vast 
printing  and  book-binding  establishment  in  Williams- 
burg instead  of  Franklin  street.  They  have  done  less 
and  less  of  late  in  miscellaneous  books  and  in  the  retail 
trade,  having  turned  their  attention  to  the  publication  of 


672  The   Great   Metropolis. 

school  and  Spanish  works.  In  the  latter  they  do  an  im- 
mense business  with  South  America,  shipping  boxes  upon 
boxes  of  Don  Quixote,  Calderon,  and  Da  Vega,  and 
other  classics,  hy  almost  every  vessel  that  leaves  here 
for  Montevideo,  Buenos  Ay  res,  and  Rio  Janeiro.  On ' 
various  books  they  have  made  large  sums.  On  the  New 
American  Cyclopedia,  for  instance,  they  have  cleared,  up 
to  the  present  time,  not  less  than  $700,000,  and  the  sale 
is  still  steady.  No  one  knows  how  much  they  are  worth ; 
perhaps  they  do  not  know  themselves.  The  firm  must 
count  its  wealth  by  millions,  and  their  regular  business 
must  bring  an  income  of  fully  $100,000  to  each  of  the 
members.  They  are  still  close  calculators  and  shrewd 
managers,  and  look  after  the  dollars  as  if  they  had  but 
a  slender  salary  to  depend  on,  which  is  the  way  of  pros- 
perous human  nature,  and  particularly  the  way  of  the 
Appletons. 

Harper  &  Brothers  is  the  oldest  publishing  house  in  the 
country.  The  firm  is  composed  of  James,  aged  seventy- 
three  ;  John,  seventy-one;  Joseph  W.,  sixty-seven; 
and  Fletcher,  sixty-two.  They  have  seven  of  their  sons 
in  the  establishment,  so  it  may  well  be  called  a  family 
concern.  The  four  brothers  are  sons  of  a  Long  Island 
farmer,  having  been  born  in  Newtown.  He  was  very 
industrious  and  frugal,  and  his  boys  have  been  like  him. 
James  and  John  were  apprenticed  by  their  father  to  the 
printing  business  in  this  City.  They  afterward  set  up 
as  printers  for  booksellers,  though  they  set  type  and 
worked  at  the  press  then;iselves.  Wesley  and  Fletcher 
were  subsequently  apprenticed  to  their  elder  brothers, 
and  when  they  had  served  their  time  obtained  an  in- 
terest in  the  business.  Fletcher,  though  the  youngest, 
is  the  real  manairer  and  director  of  the  house,     lie  it 


Eminent   Business   Men.  673 

was  who  originated  the  idea  of  the  Magazine,  to  which, 
it  is  said,  the  other  brothers  were  opposed,  fearful  that 
it  would  prove  an  unprofitable  enterprise.  He  per- 
suaded them  at  last  to  accept  his  view,  and  the  result 
proved  the  soundness  of  his  judgment.  The  Magazine 
succeeded  at  once,  and  it  now  has  a  circulation  of  more 
than  125,000.  In  1853,  three  years  after  the  issuing 
of  the  Monthly,  the  establishment  was  burned  to  the 
ground,  causing  a  loss  of  $1,500,000.  The  Harpers  were 
still  in  comfortable  circumstances ;  but  they  had  no  idea 
of  being  driven  out  of  business  by  a  fire.  They  took 
counsel  with  each  other  the  night  after  the  occurrence, 
and  determined  to  go  on  without  delay.  In  two  weeks 
they  had  a  plan  for  a  new  building,  which  they  resolved 
should  be  fire-proof,  to  prevent  a  repetition  of  the  dis- 
aster. The  result  Avas  the  immense  structure  in  Frank- 
lin square,  which  has  another  entrance  on  Chff  street. 
The  building  is  of  iron,  painted  white,  seven  stories  high. 
The  two  main  buildings  are  connected  by  iron  bridges, 
as  are  the  different  stories  by  a  circular  iron  staircase 
running  outside  the  building.  The  structure  is  the 
largest  and  completest  in  the  world.  It  employs  seven 
or  eight  hundred  persons,  over  a  hundred  of  them 
women,  who  read  MS.,  print,  electrotype,  bind,  draw, 
and  engrave.  The  Harpers  have  every  facility  for 
making  a  perfect  book,  and  turn  out  excellent  work. 
Their  facilities  are  so  great  and  their  connections  so 
numerous  that  they  can  sell  enough  copies  of  almost  any 
book  they  accept  to  avoid  loss.  They  are  practical 
men ;  having  no  idea  of  publishing  a  volume  they  think 
won't  pay.  Of  course,  they  make  mistakes  sometimes  ; 
but  not  half  so  often  as  would  be  supposed.  Their 
issues  include  every  thing,  from  sentimental  novels  to 

43 


674  The   Great   Metropolis. 

purely  scientific  works,  from  European  guide-books  to 
reprints  of  the  ancient  classics.  They  publish  Harpers' 
Weeldy  and  the  Bazar ^  both  of  which  have  had  enor- 
mous success. 

James  was  once  Mayor  of  the  City,  having  been 
elected  when  the  municipal  government  was  so  outra- 
geously administered  that  the  people  determined  upon 
a  change.  He  is  very  quiet  and  undemonstrative ; 
adheres  so  closely  to  his  duties  that  if  you  were  to  see 
him  at  his  desk  you  would  imagine  him  an  old  and 
faithful  book-keeper,  to  whom  method  and  application 
had  become  second  nature.  He  is  very  young-looking 
for  his  years,  and  is  much  taller  than  John,  who  is  also 
a  reticent,  hard  worker.  Joseph,  a  thin  and  diffident- 
seeming  man,  bears  slight  resemblance  to  his  brothers ; 
thinks  much  and  says  little.  He  has  more  culture  and 
literary  taste  than  any  of  the  others,  and  is  said  to  write 
with  force  and  elegance.  Fletcher  is  the  talker  and 
humorist  of  the  firm.  He  is  tall,  light-haired,  blue-eyed, 
has  a  well-shaped  head,  and  is  very  pleasant  and  com- 
panionable withal.  He  looks  after  new  books,  the  Week- 
lies, and  the  Monthly,  and  receives  authors  and  writers 
who  have  dealings  with  the  firm.  John  Harper  super- 
vises the  general  business,  Joseph  attends  to  the  literary 
correspondence,  and  James  directs  the  different  depart- 
ments. The  four  brothers  can  be  found  almost  any  day 
in  the  counting-room,  which  is  separated  by  an  iron  rail- 
ing from  the  general  salesroom,  on  the  second  floor. 
They  go  to  their  desks  regularly,  and  have  no  patience 
with  men  who  fail  to  do  their  duty.  They  enjo}^  work. 
They  have  been  actively  engaged  so  long  that  they 
could  not  stop  if  they  would.  They  are  a  peculiar  old 
quartette,  and  though  anxious  always  to  drive  a  good 


Eminent   Business   Men.  675 

bargain,  are  among  the  most  liberal  publishers  in  the 
City. 

Among  the  well-known  landlords  of  New-York,  Col. 
Charles  A.  Stetson  is  the  most  conspicuous.  Though  he  no 
longer  takes  an  active  part  in  the  management  of  the  As- 
ter, he  is  to  be  seen  daily  in  its  corridors,  and  is  as  full  of 
interesting  reminiscence,  pleasant  anecdote,  and  dramatic 
illustration  as  ever.  Though  over  sixty  he  would  pass  for 
forty,  and  his  smooth,  rosy  face,  mild  eyes,  and  genial  ex- 
pression, bring  back  New-York  as  it  was  more  than  thirty 
years  ago.  He  is  a  pattern  Boniface  ;  is  thoroughly  well 
bred,  easy,  graceful,  elegant,  a  delightful  talker,  and  a 
general  favorite.  A  native  of  Massachusetts,  he  reveres 
New-England,  and  yet  loves  New- York.  Unlike  many 
of  his  chiss,  he  was  decided  in  his  political  views  from 
the  beginning  of  the  War;  aided  the  Northern  cause 
and  soldiers  with  voice  and  money.  His  hotel  was 
always  open  to  loyal  soldiers  whether  they  had  or  had 
not  the  means  of  payment.  His  reply  to  a  dispatch, 
"  The  Astor  House  has  no  price  for  Massachusetts  sol- 
diers," was  a  patriotic  poem,  and  will  long  be  remem- 
bered. 

The  Lelands  are  famed  among  hotel  proprietors. 
They  now  have  seven  or  eight  houses ;  the  Metropoli- 
tan here,  the  Union  and  Columbian  at  Saratoga,  the 
Delavan  at  Albany,  the  Occidental  at  San  Francisco, 
and  several  others.  They  seem  born  to  the  business; 
for  they  have  always  succeeded  where  others  have 
failed.  Simeon  Leland  is  the  principal  man  here,  albeit 
no  one  seems  to  understand  where  one  Leland  flides  off 
and  another  rises  into  light.  They  are  all  energetic, 
sharp,  tactful,  good  judges  of  human  nature,  and  under- 
stand the  peculiar  line  of  their  calHng. 


676  The   Great   Metropolis. 

R.  L.  &  A.  Stuart  are  the  famous  sugar-refiners. 
They  began  life  in  the  most  humble  way.  Their 
mother,  an  industrious  Irish  woman,  was  so  poor  that 
she  made  molasses  candy,  and  sent  her  little  boys  out 
to  sell  it.  From  that  homely  trade  she  set  up  a  small 
candy  store  in  Chambers  street,  out  of  which  grew  the 
large  establishment  and  the  well-known  sugar-refinery 
that  have  made  for  the  firm  a  vast  fortune.  Alexander 
Stuart  still  lives  a  bachelor  in  Chambers  street,  but 
Robert  L.  has  one  of  the  handsomest  houses  in  Fifth 
avenue,  at  the  corner  of  Twentieth  street.  The  Stuarts 
are  devout  Presbyterians,  and  are  fine  examples  of  what 
honesty  and  industry  will  accomplish  for  friendless  boys. 


CHAPTER   LXXXVL 

YOUNG  MEN'S   CHRISTIAN  ASSOCIATION. 

The  Young  Men's  Christian  Association,  designed  for 
the  mental  and  more  especially  the  moral  improvement 
of  young  men,  is  about  sixteen  years  old.  The  society 
was  organized  here,  and  held  its  first  meeting  at  Stuy- 
vesant  Institute  in  Broadway.  Since  then  every  large 
city  and  town  in  the  country  has  formed  associations  of 
the  same  name,  with  the  same  object.  Its  present  quar- 
ters are  at  the  corner  of  BroadAvay  and  Twenty-second 
street,  where  they  have  pleasant  rooms. 

They  expect  to  remove  the  coming  year  to  the  corner 
of  Twenty-third  street  and  Fourth  avenue,  where  their 
new  building,  a  six-story  brick,  which,  Avith  the  ground, 
will  cost  $400,000  or  $500,000,  is  now  in  process  of 
erection.  The  stores  on  the  first  floor  will  be  rented 
with  other  parts  of  the  building,  so  that  the  income  from 
the  property  will  be  handsome.  The  Association  is  to 
have  a  large  library,  lecture  and  reading  rooms,  parlors, 
and  a  gymnasium,  where  young  men  will  be  invited  to 
pass  their  evenings  instead  of  exposing  themselves  to 
the  temptations,  or  indulging  in  the  vices  of  the  City. 

Branches  have  been  established  down  town — one  of 
them  in  Wooster  street  for  colored  young  men — and 
more  will  be. 

The  Association  has  done  much  good  in  furnishing  the 


678  The   Great   Metropolis. 

means  of  instruction  and  rational  enjoyment  to  young 
men  in  toAvn,  particularly  to  strangers.  Its  rooms  are 
always  open  to  such,  and  a  warm  welcome  is  always  ex- 
tended. The  members  give  a  standing  invitation  to  the 
public  to  attend  their  prayer-meetings  and  devotional 
exercises,  and  if  the  greater  part  of  the  public  fail  to 
seek  religion  as  a  source  of  consolation  and  happiness, 
preferring  theaters,  concert  saloons,  billiards  and  bar- 
rooms to  theological  discussions  and  the  teachings  of 
Christ,  it  must  be  attributed  to  the  wicked  perversity 
that  marks  fallen  humanity.  The  young  Christians  do 
their  part  energetically  and  conscientiously,  and  the  sins 
of  the  unregenerate  multitude  are  not  upon  their  un- 
sullied souls. 

The  Association  claims  the  credit  of  originating  the 
Fulton  street  prayer-meeting,  wdiich  has  held  a  protracted 
session  for  the  past  twelve  or  thirteen  years.  Any  body 
of  men,  young  or  old,  w^ho  could  create  a  spirit  of  prayer 
that  would  last  through  such  a  period  can  not  be  too 
highly  commended.  The  Fulton  street  prayer-meeting 
is  as  actively  and  enthusiastically  conducted  as  it  w^as 
before  the  War;  and  from  all  past  and  present  indica- 
tions is  likely  to  be  perpetual.  It  must  be  a  great  relief 
to  the  merchants  and  clerks  in  the  vicinity  to  sink  their 
trials  and  cares  in  noonday  devotions,  and  open  their 
surcharged  bosoms  to  the  confidence  of  Heaven.  The 
merchants  thereabout  often  speak,  I  am  told,  of  the 
happy  effect  of  snatching  a  few  minutes  from  the  busiest 
hours  of  the  day,  and  giving  them  freely  to  the  Lord. 

At  the  breaking  out  of  the  War,  the  Association 
interested  itself  profoundly  in  the  spiritual  needs  of  the 
soldiers  who  had  volunteered.  The  members  visited 
the  camps  about  the  City ;  distributed  hymn-books,  and 


Young   Men's   Christian   Association.         679 

bibles,  and  tracts  of  a  most  elevating  character,  repre- 
senting the  danger  of  the  wicked  and  the  advantage  of 
being  on  the  right  side,  whether  the  battle  was  waged 
against  the  South  or  the  devil.  After  the  opening  of 
hostilities  the  young  Christians  visited  the  hospitals  of 
the  w^ounded  in  and  about  New^-York,  and  were  ready 
to  act  as  watchers  and  nurses  whenever  their  services 
were  needed.  They  rendered  invaluable  aid  in  that 
way,  and  toward  the  close  of  1861  founded  the  Christian 
Commission,  Vvhose  members  visited  the  armies,  and 
during  and  after  the  battles  rendered  all  possible  aid  to 
the  wounded,  whether  friend  or  foe.  Those  who  were 
in  the  field  can  recall,  as  I  do,  countless  instances  of 
their  generous  devotion  and  Christian  charity. 

The  Association  now  has  about  seventeen  or  eighteen 
hundred  members,  and  when  they  are  in  their  new 
building,  will  have  increased  facilities  for  doing  good. 
They  now  perform  much  religious  mission  work,  and,  by 
example,  counsel,  and  solicitation,  seek  to  turn  the  atten- 
tion and  thoughts  of  all  they  can  influence  to  the  beauty 
of  a  purely  Christian  life.  They  propose  to  give  a 
regular  course  of  free  lectures  each  season,  and  to  offer 
such  inducements  to  young  men  as  will  make  their 
rooms  attractive  and  instructive.  The  religious  com- 
munity has  much  interest  in  the  Association,  and  will, 
no  doubt,  co-operate  with  it  in  all  it  undertakes.  Money 
has  been  freely  subscribed  for  the  society,  and  will  be 
again.  It  Avorks  with  so  much  zeal,  and  has  such  per- 
fect faith  in  its  future  and  its  benefit  to  humanity,  that 
it  appeals  to  the  generosity  and  admiration  even  of 
many  who  hold  very  different  views,  but  who  reverence 
the  earnest  desire  to  do  good  wherever  shown. 


CHAPTER  LXXXVII. 

THE   PUBLIC   SCHOOLS. 

Our  Public  Schools  are  among  the  few  public  things 
in  the  City  that  are  creditable  ;  though  this  is  truer  of 
the  system  than  of  its  application.  The  schools  are 
under  the  direction  of  the  Board  of  Education,  composed 
of  Trustees  elected  from  the  districts,  and  of  Com- 
missioners from  the  wards.  When  the  Trustees  and 
Commissioners  happen  to  be  educated  men  of  character, 
the  schools  they  have  charge  of  are  well  managed  ;  but 
when,  as  very  often  happens,  they  are  ignorant  and  un- 
principled, the  schools  suffer  thereby.  There  is,  there- 
fore, a  marked  difference  in  the  schools.  Some  of  them 
are  excellent,  and  others  the  opposite. 

It  is  not  uncommon  for  the  Trustees  to  be  keepers  of 
groggeries,  who  can  hardly  write  their  own  name,  and 
who  would  be  last  in  the  lowest  spelling-class,  if  they 
were  submitted  to  the  mysterious  test  of  orthography. 

The  pupils  are  as  different  as  they  conveniently  can 
be,  and  vary  with  the  district.  In  the  lower  wards,  and 
on  the  east  side  of  the  town,  they  are  mostly  of  foreign 
parentage,  and  very  inferior  to  those  of  the  schools  in 
Twelfth,  Thirteenth,  and  Twenty-eighth  streets.  Nor  are 
all  the  pupils,  as  is  often  supposed,  the  children  of  poor 
people,  though  the  majority  are.  In  some  of  the  dis- 
tricts the  scholars  belong  to  the  best  families  in  the  City, 


The   Public    Schools.  681 

their  parents  sending  them  to  prove  their  democratic 
principles. 

The  school-houses  are  nearly  all  handsome  buildings  of 
brick,  well  arranged,  well  ventilated,  and  well  furnished. 
They  number  ninety-four  in  all.  Of  these,  thirty-five 
contain  three  separate  departments — masculine,  feminine, 
and  primary ;  eight,  two  departments — masculine  and 
primary ;  five,  feminine  and  primary ;  one,  masculine 
and  feminine ;  two,  two  feminine  departments  and  pri- 
maries ;  two,  with  one  department  only  for  both  sexes, 
and  thirty-six  separate  primary  schools,  making  in  all 
one  hundred  and  eighty-seven  separate  and  distinct  de- 
partments or  schools,  viz.:  forty-four  grammar  schools 
for  boys  (including  colored  schools);  forty-five  grammar 
schools  for  girls  (including  colored  schools);  seven  gram- 
mar schools  for  both  sexes  (including  colored  schools) 
fifty-five  primary  departments  (including  colored 
schools);  thirty-six  primary  schools  (including  colored 
schools). 

The  attendance  at  the  schools  steadily  increases.  Last 
year  it  was  about  four  thousand  more  than  during  the 
year  previous.     The  latest  report  gives  the  following  : — 


Schools.  .;^"^7'^*  "^<^'«  i^^' 

Attendance^  Taught. 

Grammar  Schools  and  Primary  Departments 65,139  146,986 

Primary  Schools 16,459  43,068 

Colored  Schools 737  2.056 

Evening  Schools 7,479  16,510 

Normal  Schools 406  1,000 

Corporate  Schools 6,074  16,567 

Total 96,294  226.187 

The  whole  number  of  teachers  employed  in  the  sev- 
eral schools  and  departments  during  last  year  was  2,206, 
of  whom   176   were   men  and  2,030  women.     Of  this 


682  The   Great   Metropolis. 

number^  241  held  certificates  of  qualification  from  the 
State  Superintendent  of  Public  Instruction,  twenty-six 
were  graduates  of  the  State  Normal  School  at  Albany, 
and  the  remainder  held  certificates  from  this  Depart- 
ment. Upw'ard  of  1,900  of  these  teachers  have  been 
engaged  in  teaching  six  months  and  over  during  the  year. 

Children  can  begin  with  the  alphabet  in  the  primary 
schools,  and  end  w^ith  graduation,  if  girls,  at  the  gram- 
mar schools  ;  or,  if  boys,  w^ith  graduation,  at  the  Free 
Academy,  now  called  the  College  of  the  City  of  New^- 
York.  The  girls  have  no  high  school  coresponding  to 
the  Academy,  w^here  Latin,  Greek,  mathematics,  and  all 
the  branches  of  a  regular  college  are  taught ;  but  this 
want  will  probably  soon  be  supplied.  Those  w^ho 
intend  to  become  teachers  study  for  a  year  or  two  in 
the  supplemental  classes,  in  which  particular  attention  is 
paid  to  algebra,  geometry  and  trigonometry,  physics, 
chemistry,  history,  and  general  literature. 

The  evening  schools,  twenty-six  in  number,  wath 
twelve  feminine  and  fourteen  masculine  departments, 
are  in  most  flourishing  condition.  Girls  under  ten, 
and  boys  under  twelve  years  of  age  are  not  admit- 
ted, and  satisfactory  evidence  as  to  character  deport- 
ment, and  earnest  purpose  are  always  required.  The 
total  number  of  scholars  registered  during  last  year 
was  15,279,  and  those  attending  the  full  term  6,165, 
only  about  40  per  cent,  of  the  number  registered. 
Many  of  the  pupils  are  regular  in  attendance  and  very 
studious  ;  but  more  are  so  irregular  as  to  defeat  the 
object  of  the  teachers.  Not  a  few  of  the  scholars  are 
men  and  women.  Germans  over  twenty-one  are  nume- 
rous in  the  Tenth  and  Seventeenth  wards,  their  object 
being  to  learn  EngHsh. 


The   Public   Schools.  683 

The  evening  High  School  in  Thirteenth  street  is  one 
of  the  most  valuable  of  the  schools.  It  is  intended  for 
young  men  in  situations  who  wish  to  fit  themselves  for 
advanced  positions.  The  school  pays  particular  attention 
to  book-keeping,  the  natural  sciences,  mathematics,  and 
modern  languages,  especially  French,  German,  and 
Spanish.  All  of  the  pupils  are  young  men,  the  majority 
of  them  over  eighteen,  and  earnest  in  their  effort  to 
improve.  They  number  900  or  1,000,  and  are  among 
the  most  diligent  and  exemplary  of  the  attendants  at 
the  Public  Schools.  Desire  for  knowledge  with  them 
is  a  hunger  and  a  thirst,  not  a  mere  routine  of  study  as  it 
is  with  many  who  are  educated  at  the  expense  of  the  City. 

The  pupils  of  the  schools  have  no  outlay  whatever, 
the  City  furnishing  the  necessary  books,  which  are  not 
the  same  in  all  the  schools.  The  Board  of  Education 
selects  such  books  as  it  thinks  best  for  the  pupils  in  the 
different  schools,  so  that  the  geographies,  arithmetics 
and  grammars,  even  in  the  same  classes,  vary  very  much. 

Corporal  punishment  has  been  practically  abolished,  and 
with  excellent  effect,  and  other  reforms  are  in  progress. 

The  teachers'  salaries  are  from  $550  to  $2,500,  and 
even  $3,000  ;  the  first  for  women  in  the  primary  schools 
and  the  last  for  men  as  principals.  It  is  a  just  ground 
for  complaint  that  the  men  receive  nearly  one-half  more 
than  the  women  for  performing  exactly  the  same  duties, 
which  may  be  explained,  though  it  can  not  be  excused, 
by  the  fact  that  the  feminine  teachers,  in  proportion  to 
the  masculine,  are  as  twelve  to  one. 

The  annual  expense  of  the  schools,  in  round  numbers, 
is  $3,000,000,  which,  considering  the  average  attend- 
ance at  100,000,  makes  the  cost  of  educating  each 
pupil  about  $300  a  year. 


CHAPTEK  LXXXYIII. 
DISTINGUISHED     WOMEN. 

Alice  and  Phgebe  Gary  are  so  intimately  associated 
in  the  public  mind,  and  so  well  known  as  the  poet  sisters, 
that  one  can  hardly  speak  of  them  apart.  Alice  is  five 
years  older  than  Phoebe,  and,  having  written  much 
more,  is  far  better  known.  But  they  have  always  been 
together  from  early  childhood,  and  their  similarity  of 
taste,  and  entire  sympathy,  prove  that  they  are  sisters 
in  spirit  as  well  as  in  blood. 

The  Carys  were  born  at  Mount  Pleasant,  near  Cin- 
cinnati, Ohio,  and  remained  in  that  vicinity  until  they 
were  young  women.  They  lived  in  the  country  most 
of  the  time,  and  from  the  woods  and  streams,  the  hills 
and  valleys  that  abound  in  the  picturesque  region  about 
Cincinnati,  acquired  the  fondness  for,  and  familiarity 
with.  Nature,  which  have  since  shown  themselves  in 
their  writings,  particularly  in  Alice's  Clovernook  stories. 

They  were  accustomed  to  commit  their  thoughts  and 
feelings  to  paper  from  their  girlhood,  contributing  verses 
and  stories,  as  they  grew  older,  to  the  newspapers  and 
magazines  that  were  within  their  reach.  For  years 
they  wrote  w^ithout  pay,  because  it  was  a  2:)leasure  to 
them,  and  so  gained  much  facility  and  grace  of  compo- 
sition, particularly  in  verse.  Alice  was  always  very 
industrious,  but  Phoebe   had   comparatively  little  incli- 


Distinguished   Women.  685 

nation  to  verse  or  to  prose,  and  had  a  remarkable  fond- 
ness for  turning  the  tenderest  poems  into  ridicule.  She 
wrote  and  printed  a  number  of  burlesques ;  while  her 
elder  sister  composed  sweet  and  melancholy  poems  and 
interesting  stories  for  the  Western  publications. 

About  eighteen  years  ago  the  Carys  concluded  to 
leave  the  West,  come  East,  and  make  New- York  their 
place  of  permanent  residence.  It  was  quite  a  bold 
movement  for  young  women  who,  whatever  their  repu- 
tation at  home,  were  hardly  known  here  at  all.  But 
they  had  courage  and  hope,  and  struggled  so  bravely 
and  perseveringly  that  they  won  recognition  as  poets 
of  excellence. 

Alice  has  published  seven  or  eight  books,  several  of 
them  novels,  and  Phoebe  but  two,  both  poems.  The 
latter  has  shown  marked  improvement  recently.  She 
has  far  more  power  and  depth,  and  seems  to  have  de- 
veloped new  capacities  for  the  gentle  art.  Some  of  her 
poems  are  very  fine ;  "  The  Dead  Love "  being  pro- 
nounced by  foreign  critics  one  of  the  best  America  has 
produced.  Alice  is  indefatigable.  She  writes  for  all 
the  magazines  and  principal  weeklies,  and  yet  it  is 
doubtful  if  she  averages  more  than  $2,500  a  year.  Con- 
sidering her  reputation,  not  to  speak  of  her  ability,  this 
is  not  very  encouraging  to  literary  workers. 

The  Carys,  though  they  have  remained  unwedded 
(they  deserve  credit  for  having  courage  enough  to  bear 
the  reputation  of  '^  old  maids  "  without  shrinking),  are 
decidedly  domestic  in  their  tastes  and  habits.  They 
have  no  desire  to  travel ;  have  never  wanted  to  go 
abroad  ;  and,  excepting  a  few  weeks  spent  at  the  White 
Mountains  during  the  Summer,  seldom  leave  the  City. 
They  have  a  pleasant  and  comfortable  house,  which 


686  The   Great   Metropolis. 

they  own,  in  Twentieth  street,  near  Fourth  avenue. 
It  is  full  of  books  and  pictures,  and  their  friends  and 
all  cultivated  strangers  are  always  sure  of  a  warm  wel- 
come there. 

Phoebe  is  full,  round,  and  very  vivacious,  with  none 
of  the  pensiveness  or  dreaminess  popularly  associated 
with  bards  of  either  sex.  She  has  dark  eyes,  black 
hair,  and  has  such  a  Spanish  look  that  if  you  were  to 
meet  her  in  Havana  or  Seville  you  would  make  oath 
she  was  a  full-blooded  Seilora.  She  has  a  nimble 
tongue,  and  fully  sustains  the  reputation  of  her  sex  for 
liberality  in  its  use.  She  talks  very  well,  and  but  for 
an  irrepressible  passion  for  puns  would  be  a  capital 
entertainer.  She  is  very  popular,  and  has  many  enthu- 
siastic friends  of  both  sex. 

Alice  is  verj  unlike  her  sister  in  personal  appear- 
ance, habit,  and  temperament.  She  has  long  been  deli- 
cate, while  Phoebe  is  the  picture  of  robust  health ;  but 
still  she  is  always  cheerful,  and  shows  extraordinary 
patience  and  power  of  work  under  the  circumstances. 
She  has  a  few  threads  of  gray  in  her  abundant  hair, 
and  her  dark,  deep,  tender  eyes  and  swarthy  com- 
plexion make  one  think  of  a  sentimental  gipsy.  She 
is  an  interesting  woman,  and  though  no  longer  hand- 
some, she  has  a  poetic  and  decidedly  attractive  face. 
An  air  of  calm  resignation  and  gentle  sadness  hangs 
over  her  that  adds  to  her  agreeableness  with  persons  of 
quick  sympathy  and  fine  sensibility.  She  is  much  es- 
teemed and  greatly  loved. 

The  Carys  have  been  for  years  in  the  habit  of  giving. 
Sunday  evening  receptions,  where  many  of  the  literary 
men,  journalists,  and  artists  of  the  City  meet.    It  is  one 
of  the  few  places  in  New-York  where  the  artistic  class 


Distinguished   Women.  687 

meet  on  common  and  agreeable  ground.  I  know  of  no 
other  house,  except  Mrs.  Anne  Lynch  Botta's,  where 
such  reunions  are  regularly  held.  A  number  of  our 
literary  women  visit  the  Carys  on  Sunday,  where  the 
tea-table  is  always  set  for  about  twenty  persons.  No 
ceremony  is  used  or  is  necessary.  Any  one  who  wishes 
to  come  is  welcome.  The  gatherings  are  so  entirely 
free  and  unconventional  that  often  persons  are  not  even 
introduced. 

Among  the  well-known  feminine  writers  to  be  seen 
at  the  Carys  is  Mrs.  Sara  Willis  Parton,  whom  every 
one  knows  as  the  redoubtable  Fanny  Fern. 

Mrs.  Mary  Clemmer  Ames,  the  Washington  corre- 
spondent of  the  Independent^  and  a  very  clever  writer, 
is  a  visitor  there  when  in  the  City — she  has  recently 
made  this  her  home — and  adds  to  the  interest  of  the 
assemblies.  She  is  a  tall,  large,  blue-eyed,  brown-haired 
woman,  very  quiet  and  retiring  in  manner,  whom  it  is 
difficult  to  draw  out.  When  interested,  she  speaks 
earnestly  and  eloquently,  though  a  natural  shyness  pre- 
vents her  from  revealing  on  ordinary  occasions  her  gifts 
of  mind. 

Kate  Field,  daughter  of  James  M.  Field,  the  actor, 
now  deceased,  and  a  bright  writer  for  the  Atlantic  and 
other  magazines,  is  rather  small  in  stature,  a  pleasant 
blonde ;  seems  to  be  in  excellent  spirits  always,  and 
delights  in  epigrammatic  conversation.  She  was  a  friend 
of  that  cultivated  and  peculiar  brute,  Walter  Savage  Lan- 
dor,  whom  she  knew  in  Italy.  She  gained  considerable 
fame  here  by  her  elaborate  Tribune  critiques,  or,  rather, 
eulogies,  upon  Ristori,  when  she  first  appeared  in  this 
country.     She  is  frequently  at  the  receptions. 

Mrs.   Lucia   Gilbert  Calhoun,   of  the   Tribune  staff, 


688  The   Great   Metropolis. 

declared  by  Horace  Greeley  to  be  the  most  brilliant 
writer  on  the  paper,  makes  periodical  calls  at  the  Carys. 
She  is  tall,  lithe,  graceful,  and  particularly  elegant,  almost 
the  opposite  of  what  many  people  fancy  a  literary 
woman  to  be.  She  is  not  handsome,  though  I  have 
heard  many  call  her  so  when  her  face  is  animated.  She 
has  abundant  chestnut  hair,  rather  a  tawny  complexion, 
hazel  eyes  that  look  green  often,  and  are  really  beauti- 
ful. She  dresses  in  exquisite  taste,  and  seems  thor- 
oughly a  woman  of  society.  She  is  called  charming  by 
all  her  friends  and  by  many  who  have  hardly  seen  her. 
She  is  a  fine  conversationalist  and  a  most  agreeable 
entertainer. 

Madame  Octavia  Walton  Levert,  the  well-known 
Southern  authoress,  whose  home  was  in  Mobile,  Ala., 
until  she  came  here  to  live,  is  an  habitue  of  Twentieth 
street.  She  does  not  personally  give  the  impression  you 
might  get  from  her  writings.  She  is  lai^e,  and  not  at 
all  distinguished ;  but  she  is  highly  cultivated,  very 
agreeable  in  conversation,  and  winning  in  manners. 
Wealthy  before  the  War,  she  has  lost  her  fortune,  but 
is  cheerful  and  even  happy  under  the  shadow  of 
adversity. 

Jenny  June  (Mrs.  Jennie  C.  Croly),  the  popular 
fashion  writer  for  most  of  the  leading  papers,  and  the 
editor  of  Madame  Demorest's  magazine,  is  a  very  pleas- 
ant woman.  She  is  of  medium  size ;  has  blue  eyes  and 
brown  hair,  is  full  of  amiability  and  kindness,  and  is 
much  liked  for  her  freedom  from  pretense  or  affectation 
of  any  kind.  She  makes  an  hour  pleasant  on  Sunday 
evening  at  the  Carys,  and  is  an  accession  to  their  supe- 
rior company. 

Mrs.  Mary  E.  Dodge,  author  of  the  "Irvington  Stories," 


Distinguished   Women.  689 

and  many  other  popular  books,  is  a  bundle  of  sunshine  ; 
abounds  in  lively  repartee  and  pleasant  wit.  She  is 
small,  has  very  dark  hair,  and  gray  eyes ;  is  always 
busy  about  something  ;  full  of  feeling  and  generous  sen- 
timents, and  makes  friends  of  her  slightest  acquaint- 
ances. Though  long  a  widow,  and  the  mother  of  boys 
taller  than  herself,  she  seems  like  a  school-girl  in  her 
fresh-hearted  humor  that  never  tires. 

Mrs.  Sarah  F.  Ames,  the  renowned  sculptor,  is  also  a 
frequenter  of  the  Carys.  She  is  very  foreign  in  appear- 
ance. Her  eyes  and  hair  are  black  as  night ;  her  mouth 
is  well  shaped  and  rosy ;  and  she  talks  with  an  intens- 
ity and  eloquence  that  prove  the  ardor  of  her  tempera- 
ment. She  is  a  very  independent,  strong,  efficient 
w^oman,  entirely  in  sympathy  with  every  liberal  move- 
ment and  generous  purpose.  She  has  no  fear  of  Mrs. 
Grundy  when  convinced  of  the  justice  or  worthiness  of 
her  intent,  and  is  worth  a  thousand  of  the  merely  com- 
mon-place fashionable  women  who  dawdle  life  away  in 
worse  than  empty  frivolity. 

There  are  other  and  clever  women  who  visit  the 
Carys ;  but  those  I  have  named  are  the  most  regular 
attendants  at  the  weekly  receptions,  and  types  of  the 
cultivated  class,  who  find  there  sympathy  and  expres- 
sion without  narrowness,  conventionality,  or  dread  of  the 
frowns  of  a  society  that  is  free  from  brains  and  innocent 
of  heart. 

44 


CHAPTEE  LXXXIX. 
CITY    CHARITIES. 

If  it  be  true  that  Chanty  covers  a  multitude  of  sins, 
New-York's  many  and  grievous  ones  should  always  be 
veiled.  Our  charities  are,  probably,  larger  and  more 
liberal  than  those  of  any  city  in  the  World.  How 
loud  vice  is,  and  how  quiet  virtue !  The  country 
echoes  to  the  iteration  of  our  corruption,  extravagance, 
and  licentiousness;  but  our  great  heart,  our  generous 
alms-giving,  our  beautiful  sacrifice,  go  voiceless  through 
the  hind. 

The  hospitals'of  the  Metropolis  number  thirteen,  and 
the  asylums  thirty-nine. 

St.  Luke's  (Episcopal),  Fifth  avenue,  between  Fifty- 
fourth  and  Fifty -fifth  streets,  was  incorporated  in  1850, 
and  owes  its  origin  to  the  Rev.  Wm.  A.  Muhlenberg. 
In  addition  to  furnishing  medical  and  surgical  aid,  it 
aims  to  give  instruction  in  the  art  of  nursing.  The 
principal  front  is  on  Fifty-fourth  street,  and  280  feet 
long.  It  is  an  oblong  parallelogram,  with  wrings  at  each 
end,  and  a  central  chapel  flanked  with  towers.  The 
wards  on  either  side  of  the  central  building  in  the  second 
and  third  stories  are  109  feet  long,  26  wide,  and  14  high. 

The  hospital,  well  ventilated  and  excellently  arranged, 
is  under  the  direction  of  the  Superintendent  and  Sisters, 
a  body  of  Protestant  Christian  women,  bound  by  no 
vow,  who,  after  a  trial  of  six  months,  engage  to  serve 


City  Charities.  691 

for  three  years,  renewing  their  services  if  they  like. 
The  spirit  of  the  Sisterhood  is  very  like  that  of  the 
Lutheran  Deaconesses  of  Kaiserwerth,  who  have  done 
such  efficient  work  in  Germany.  Their  services  are  wholly 
gratuitous,  daily  food  being  all  they  receive,  from  the 
institution.  Many  of  the  prettiest  and  most  fashionable 
young  women  of  the  City  have  from  time  to  time  been 
Sisters,  and  the  romantic  causes  that  led  thereto,  if  told, 
would  be  very  interesting.  Such  charming  nurses  have 
been  rarely  seen,  and  not  a  few  of  the  patients  have 
been  unwilling  to  get  well  when  so  delightfully  adminis- 
tered to.  When  patients  are  able  to,  they  pay  $7  a 
w^eek,  but  the  great  majority  have  been  supported  by 
charity.  They  are  admitted  regardless  of  creed,  though 
the  form  of  worship  is  always  Episcopal. 

The  New-York  Society  for  the  Relief  of  the  Ruptured 
and  Crippled,  at  No.  97  Second  avenue,  is  but  five  years 
old.  Much  good  has  been  done  by  the  society,  who 
will  soon  erect  a  larger  and  better  building  in  Lexing- 
ton avenue.  There  are  about  one  hundred  and  seventy 
applicants  a  month,  few  of  whom  have  the  means  of 
payment. 

The  New- York  State  Woman's  Hospital,  twelve  years 
old,  is  the  offspring  of  a  remarkable  discovery  in  science 
made  by  an  American,  Dr.  J.  Marion  Sims,  of  Alabama, 
who  was  its  founder.  Previous  to  his  discovery,  surgery 
was  unable  to  do  any  thing  for  the  class  of  affections  the 
Hospital  was  designed  to  care  for.  Its  treatment  has 
been  very  successful,  thousands  of  suffering  women 
having  been  not  only  relieved,  but  permanently  cured. 
Each  county  in  the  State  is  entitled  to  one  free  bed. 
Patients  of  all  denominations  are  admitted,  but  only 
those  afflicted  with  some  disease  peculiar  to  women. 


692  The   Great   Metropolis. 

The  corner-stone  of  a  new  and  handsome  edifice  has 
been  laid  at  Fourth  avenue  and  Fiftieth  street,  and  the 
building  will  before  long  be  completed.  Mrs.  William 
B.  Astor,  Mrs.  Peter  Cooper,  Mrs.  Robert  B.  Minturn, 
Mrs.  Moses  H.  Grinnell,  and  other  prominent  ladies  are 
among  the  managers.  This  invaluable  institution  has 
actually  saved  the  lives  of  four  hundred  women  during 
the  past  year. 

St.  Vincent's  Hospital,  under  the  direction  of  the  Sis- 
ters of  Charity,  is  at  No.  195  West  Eleventh  street.  It 
was  opened  in  1849,  and  for  sixteen  years  the  celebrated 
Dr.  Valentine  Mott  was  its  consulting  surgeon  and 
physician.  It  will  accommodate  one  hundred  and  fifty 
patients,  and  is  mainly  supported  by  what  patients  pay 
for  treatment.  During  the  past  year  it  had  one  hundred 
and  thirty-five  free  patients. 

The  German  Hospital  and  Dispensary  is  what  its  name 
indicates,  and  is  on  the  block  between  Seventy-sixth 
and  Seventy-seventh  streets,  and  Fourth  and  Lexington 
avenues.  C.  Godfrey  Gunther  is  the  President,  and 
prominent  German  citizens  are  its  other  officers  and 
managers. 

The  New- York  Eye  and  Ear  Infirmary,  Second  ave- 
nue, corner  of  Thirteenth  street,  was  founded  in  1820, 
and  has  met  with  marked  success  in  treating  cases  be- 
lieved before  its  establishment  to  be  incurable. 

The  Mount  Sinai  Hospital,  in  West  Twenty-eighth 
street,  was  founded  in  1852,  by  Sampson  Levison,  a 
w^ealthy  Hebrew,  and  is  devoted  to  the  Jews,  though  all 
denominations  are  admitted.  During  the  War  many 
soldiers  were  treated  there. 

The  Infirmary  for  Women  and  Children,  No.  126 
Second  avenue,  was  organized  fifteen  years  ago,  to  af- 


City   Charities.  693 

ford  poor  women  the  opportunity  of  consulting  physicians 
of  their  own  sex  ;  to  assist  educated  w^omen  in  the  prac- 
tical study  of  medicine,  and  to  form  a  school  for  instruc- 
tion in  nursing  and  the  laws  of  health.  The  institution  is 
entirely  under  the  direction  of  feminine  physicians — Dr. 
Elizabeth  Blackwell  being  the  regular  attendant. 

The  Homeopathic  Infirmary  for  Women,  No.  57  West 
Forty-eighth  street,  has  for  its  object  the  treatment  of 
diseases  peculiar  to  women. 

The  Home  for  Incurables  is  at  West  Farms,  West- 
chester county ;  was  organized  three  years  ago,  to  pro- 
vide some  place  other  than  the  almshouse,  Avhere  per- 
sons suffering  from  incurable  diseases  could  be  properly 
cared  for. 

Bellevue,  east  of  First  avenue,  between  Twenty-sixth 
and  Twenty-eighth  streets,  is  the  great  pauper  hospital 
of  the  City,  and  one  of  its  noblest  charities.  It  occu- 
pies four  and  a  half  acres,  and  the  main  building  is  350 
feet  long,  four  stories  high,  and  is  excellently  adapted 
for  its  purpose.  It  was  originally  the  Bellevue  Alms- 
house;  but  in  1848  the  paupers  were  removed  to 
Blackwell's  Island.  It  is  probably  the  best  adapted  for 
hospital  purposes  of  any  in  the  World,  and  can  accom- 
modate 1,200  patients.  The  amount  paid  for  salaries  and 
wages  is  nearly  $14,000  per  annum.  The  medical 
organization  consists  of  twenty  consulting  physicians 
and  surgeons,  and  twenty  attending  physicians  and 
surgeons. 

The  New- York  Hospital,  in  Broadway,  opposite 
Worth  street,  was  chartered  in  1771,  and  is  an  old 
landmark  of  the  town.  It  is  under  the  direction  of 
twenty-six  governors ;  is  of  gray  granite,  and  in  simple 
Doric  styles  will  accommodate  250  patients,  has  six 


694  The  Great   Metropolis. 

physicians  and  six  surgeons,  and  is  considered  the  best 
school  of  medicine  and  surgery  in  the  country.  Those 
admitted  are  supposed  to  be  only  temporary  patients, 
and  they  are  persons  without  means  of  payment,  sea- 
men paid  for  from  the  hospital  money,  collected  under 
the  laws  of  the  United  States,  at  the  rate  of  seven  dol- 
lars a  week,  and  regular  pay  patients.  The  grounds 
are  large  and  well  laid  out,  and  worth  $3,000,000. 

The  Nursery  and  Child's  Hospital,  corner  of  Fifty- 
first  street  and  Lexington  avenue,  has  been  established 
fourteen  years,  and  is  intended  for  children  whose 
mothers  have  become  insane  or  invalids,  or  are  orphans. 
Women  obliged  to  go  out  to  service,  who  have  hereto- 
fore been  compelled  to  leave  their  children  in  the  alms- 
house, can  have  them  cared  for  at  the  Nursery  by  pay- 
ing a  small  price,  always  in  proportion  to  the  wages 
they  receive.  There  are  lying-in  wards  at  the  hospital, 
where  unfortunate  mothers  can  give  birth  to  their  babes, 
and  hide  their  shame  from  the  public.  If  this  depart- 
ment were  generally  known  it  is  believed  many  infant- 
murders  would  be  prevented.  Usually  there  are  about 
two  hundred  children  and  one  hundred  adults  in  the 
Nursery. 

The  Bloomingdale,  the  largest  and  best  known  of  the 
asylums,  is  in  117th  street,  between  Tenth  and  Eleventh, 
avenues,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  Hudson,  on 
wdiat  is  known  as  the  Harlem  Heights,  commanding  a  fine 
prospect.  The  farm  has  about  forty-five  acres,  most  of 
which  are  under  high  cultivation.  It  was  opened  in 
1821,  and  its  fine  brown  stone  buildings  are  admirably 
adapted  to  the  object  they  have  in  view.  The  patients 
are  morally  and  scientifically  treated,  and  with  very 
happy  effect.    The  asylum  is  under  the  care  of  a  special 


City   Charities.  695 

committee,  consisting  of  six  governors  elected  annually. 
It  has  never  been  open  for  the  gratuitous  reception  of 
insane  persons,  as  none  but  pay  patients  are  admitted 
unless  by  express  direction  of  the  governors.  Indigent 
patients  from  any  part  of  the  State  are,  however,  re- 
ceived at  the  lowest  rate,  and  all  others  upon  such  terms 
as  are  agreed  upon. 

The  Deaf  and  Dumb  Asylum  at  Washington  Heights 
was  founded  in  1816,  and  was  the  first  in  the  country. 
The  grounds  comprise  thirty-seven  acres,  and  with  the 
buildings,  which  are  of  brick,  with  granite  basements 
and  copings,  cost  $500,000.  In  1831  the  pupils  num- 
bered eighty-five ;  now  they  reach  four  hundred  and 
thirty-three.  Since  its  establishment  eighteen  hundred 
have  been  under  instruction.  At  first  it  was  supported 
by  private  benevolence,  but  was  soon  taken  under  the 
patronage  of  the  State.  The  regular  term  of  instruction 
is  eight  years,  and  three  additional  for  pupils  selected 
for  good  conduct  and  capacity  to  pursue  higher  studies. 
The  system  of  instruction  is  based  on  the  fact  that  ges- 
tures are  the  natural  language  of  the  deaf  and  dumb. 

The  Institution  for  the  Blind,  in  Ninth  avenue,  between 
Thirty-third  and  Thirty -fourth  streets,  is  thirty- seven 
years  old,  and  is  a  school  of  instruction,  which  is  three- 
fold, mechanical,  musical,  and  intellectual.  The  pupils 
advance  year  by  year  from  one  class  to  another  until 
the  whole  course  is  completed.  Many  who  have  been 
educated  there  now  occupy  useful  and  responsible 
positions  ;  are  merchants,  manufacturers,  teachers,  and 
clergymen. 

Leake  and  Watt's  Orphan  House,  designed  as  the 
home  of  entire  orphans,  is  between  Ninth  and  Tenth 
avenues   and   110th   and   113th   streets,  and   owes  its 


696  The    Great   Metropolis. 

origin  to  a  liberal  bequest  of  Leake,  who  died  without 
heirs. 

St.  Luke's  Home  for  Lidigent  Christian  Women  was 
organized  in  1851 ;  is  at  No.  481  Hudson  street,  and 
what  its  title  indicates.  It  is  Episcopalian,  but  not 
sectarian. 

The  Home  for  the  Friendless,  No.  29  East  Twenty- 
ninth  street,  was  established  in  1834,  and  has  done 
much  good.  It  receives  all  destitute  women  of  good 
moral  character,  of  whom  good  conduct  and  proper 
discipline  are  expected. 

Among  the  other  asylums  are  the  House  of  Mercy, 
Eighty-sixth  street,  west  of  Broadway,  which  offers  a 
home  for  fallen  women ;  the  Colored  Orphan  Asylum, 
151st  street,  near  North  Hiver,  containing  two  hun- 
dred and  sixty  inmates,  and  well  managed  ;  the  Mag- 
dalen Society,  Eighty-eighth  street,  which  has  done 
much  to  restore  erring  women  to  a  virtuous  life ;  Union 
Home,  Fifty-seventh  and  Fifty-eighth  streets,  near 
Eighth  avenue,  for  the  maintenance  of  children  of  our 
soldiers  and  sailors;  Asylum  for  Lying-in  Women,  No. 
85  Marion  street ;  Women's  Prison  Association,  No.  191 
Tenth  avenue,  for  the  support  and  encouragement  of 
prisoners  after  their  discharge;  House  of  the  Good 
Shepherd,  foot  of  Ninetieth  street;  Protective  Union, 
for  aiding  women  in  obtaining  situations  and  money  due 
from  unjust  employers;  also,  Catholic  orphan  asylums 
and  other  valuable  institutions. 

Not  less  than  $10,000,000  or  $12,000,000  are  proba- 
bly invested  in  the  city  charities,  which  must  be  sup- 
ported at  the  rate  of  $1,000,000  per  annum. 


THE  FIKST  SNOW 


CHAPTER   XC. 

THE     GREAT    METROPOLIS. 

As  HAS  been  so  often  said,  New- York  is  a  City  of 
contrasts.  It  has  no  virtue  Avithout  its  corresponding 
sin;  no  light  without  its  shadow;  no  beauty  without 
deformity;  for  it  is  a  little  world  in  itself,  and  must 
necessarily  be  made  up  of  all  the  elements  of  good  and 
evil.  Its  citizens  are  as  sensible  of  its  grievous  defects 
as  strangers  can  be ;  but  they  know  of  its  redeeming 
qualities  as  others  do  not.  It  is  the  stock-in-trade  of 
the  country  press  to  abuse  the  Metropolis ;  to  grow 
eloquent  over  its  corruption,  its  licentiousness,  its  crime. 
The  City  has  sins  enough  to  answer  for,  Pleaven  knows ; 
but  it  is  painted  blacker  than  it  deserves,  and  the  bright 
hues  that  belong  to  it  are  hidden  under  the  veil  of 
censure.  New- York  is  worse  than  other  American 
cities  because  it  is  larger;  because  it  is  a  point  all 
foreigners  touch,  and  many  of  them  linger  in,  bringing 
their  bad  habits,  their  vices,  their  pauperism  with  them. 
Here  all  adventurers,  and  sharpers,  and  vile  characters 
tend,  because  this  is  the  great  center,  and  gives  support 
and  encouragement  to  all  manner  of  men. 

New- York,  like  the  World  it  represents,  is  steadily 
though  slowly  growing  better.  It  bears  no  comparison 
for  wickedness  with  what  it  was  fifteen  or  even  ten 
years  ago.     Rowdyism  has  no  such  immunity,  lawless 


698  The   Great   Metropolis. 

ness  no  such  power.  Ev^en  the  municipal  government 
has  improved,  and  will  improve.  Every  thing  advances: 
it  is  the  eternal  law;  and  the  time  is  coming  when  a 
corrupt  judge  and  a  dishonest  councilman  will  be  driven 
from  oQice  on  this  very  Island.  New  liomers  may  not 
sing  in  the  street;  nor  new  Dantes  WTite  divine  comedies; 
nor  new  Shakspeares  set  the  soul  of  the  Universe  to 
music.  But  there  will  be  braver  men  and  truer  women, 
and  the  spirit  of  pure  Nature  will  so  enter  into  them 
that  they  will  be  transformed  outwardly  and  inwardly. 

The  City,  containing  a  million  within  its  proper  lim- 
its, and  a  million  and  a  half  within  a  radius  of  ten 
miles,  is  destined,  doubtless  before  another  century  has 
ended,  to  be  the  Metropolis  of  the  World  as  w^ell  as  of 
this  Continent.  Among  the  centers  of  civilization,  it  is 
now  the  third  in  point  of  population.  In  1790  the  City 
had  less  than  30,000  souls.  In  1807,  Robert  Fulton 
navigated  the  Hudson  to  Albany  with  the  first  steam- 
boat. In  eighty  or  ninety  years  more  what  may  w^e  not 
look  for  ? 

I  see  the  day,  though  I  may  not  with  my  mortal 
eye,  when  the  wretched  slums,  the  vile  dens,  the  loath- 
some tenements,  will  be  banished  from  the  town ;  when 
all  the  streets  will  be  clean,  and  the  houses  wholesome ; 
when  ^the  parks  and  squares  will  be  filled  with  happy 
people,  and  New- York  be  called  the  City  of  the  Beauti- 
ful. Commerce,  and  wealth,  and  intelligence  will  in- 
crease, and  ours  will  become  the  first  of  nations  as  this 
will  be  the  first  of  cities.  We  shall  eclipse  London  in 
population,  and  Paris  in  picturesqueness  and  elegance. 
We  shall  have  whole  streets  of  marble,  immense  libra- 
ries and  galleries  of  art.  Our  people  will  have  so 
advanced  in  culture,  self-discipline,  and  above  all,  in 


The  Great   Metropolis.  699 

humanity,  that  what  we  not  only  tolerate  but  advocate 
now,  we  shall  regard  as  barbarous  then. 

Judging  by  the  past,  what  may  not,  what  will  not 
New- York  be  in  a  hundred  years  ?  If  those  now  living 
were  to  see  it  after  a  century,  they  w^ould  not  recognize 
it  any  more  than  Hendrick  Hudson  or  Wouter  Von 
Twiller  would  the  Great  City  of  the  present  day.  The 
future  w^ill  be  as  a  magnificent  dream,  but  a  dream  that 
will  be  reahzed.  New-York  is  the  City  of  the  time  to 
come.  The  sea  that  w^ashes  its  shores  is  murmuring  of 
its  greatness ;  the  breezes  that  fan  it  are  whispering  of 
its  beauty;  the  stars  that  shine  over  it  are  silently  pre- 
dicting its  excellence.  It  is  now,  I  repeat,  the  Great 
Metropolis  of  the  Continent,  and  in  the  next  century 
will  be  the  Great  Metropolis  of  the  World.  Nothing 
can  resist  its  progress.  Its  course  is  onward  and  upward. 
Its  destiny  must  be  fulfilled  in  development,  in  improve- 
ment, in  the  true  democracy  that  is  the  basis  and  builder 
of  all  permanent  greatness. 

Let  those  who  will,  despair  of  the  Hepublic,  of  the 
principle  of  self-government,  of  the  intelligence  and 
integrity  of  the  people.  Would  that  such  might  live 
for  another  century,  and  behold  on  our  shores,  and  on 
this  Island,  the  fruits  of  our  industry,  our  perseverance, 
our  independence,  our  perfect  faith  in  ourselves.  I  see 
the  great  and  glorious  future  as  with  a  prophetic  eye. 
New  territories  will  be  develbped ;  new  States  will  be 
added ;  new  resources  will  be  at  our  command.  The 
vast  commerce  of  ..China  and  Japan  will  be  at  our  doors. 
Cities  now  sleeping  in  untilled  prairies,  and  upon  the 
shores  of  the  far-off  Pacific,  will  awake  to  power  and 
pleasantness.  New- York  will  be  the  center  and  sphere 
of  all  the  mighty  trade,  the  store-house  of  the  Nation's 


700  The  Great  Metropolis. 

wealth,  the  depot  of  its  commerce,  stretching  over  every 
river,  lake,  and  ocean.  The  wonders  of  fable  wnll  be 
outdone  ;  the  vision  of  the  poet  will  be  eclipsed.  This 
City  will  be  a  country  of  itself,  a  nation  in  its  strength, 
its  resources,  its  incalculable  riches.  Broadway  w^ill  be 
the  great  thoroughfare  of  the  World  ;  Fifth  avenue  the 
street  of  luxury  and  splendor  beyond  what  history  has 
shown.  Our  rivers  will  be  spanned  with  noble  bridges, 
and  Babylon,  Palmyra,  Rome,  and  Athens,  in  their 
palmiest  days  will  be  re-created  here.  Our  grandsons 
and  granddaughters  w^ill  turn  to  the  musty  records  of 
the  present,  and  tell  their  children,  and  their  children's 
children  of  the  time  when  New-York  had  but  a  million 
souls.  And  we,  slumbering  quietly  in  our  graves,  will 
be  glad  we  lived  a  century  before,  that  our  descendants 
might  dwell  amid  fairer  and  happier  days  in  that  other 
century  which  will  round  to  rosy  restfulness  all  our 
present  pains  and  carking  cares. 


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